


And This One's For You

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: A lot of secrets, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blackmail, Just trust me and read this, Kidnapping, M/M, Mixed Media, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PatrickStump0427, Rumors, Secret Organizations, Social Media, missing person, not really but it's close enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 76,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: "I said I would do anything for you."<><> <><><> <><><>December 31, 2018: Pete discovers something about Patrick. It leads to a fight where Patrick leaves without resolving the issue.January 1, 2019: Pete finds Patrick's house emptyJanuary 9, 2019: Pete goes to the police. The #MissingPatrick case opensJanuary 12, 2019: The fans find outEverything else after? A series of secrets, revelations, and flames that won't easily be extinguished as the world searches for the missing singer.And even this isn't the half of it





	1. January 12 - January 16 (I Just Want To Be Okay)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is strange and I am begging you to give it a chance.
> 
> I have a schedule set up so, ideally, this won't have me abandoning any of my other fics. I just... I had to write this one. Was anyone around for Until We Die? That fic owned me and this one did the same the second I started working on it. 
> 
> Also, don't ask me how long it took to format all of this. I will just cry.
> 
> Oh! And this one's outlined and planned so I'm planning on updating every Wednesday (despite the fact that, you know, it's kinda Tuesday right now. Late Tuesday though. So I'm saying Wednesday.) If you at all enjoy this fic, leave a comment and let me know you're there!
> 
> I think that's all for now but, basically, I can't wait to get into this story with all of you. I'm super excited and really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> NOTE: Other than the obvious celebrities, no one in this fic is meant to resemble anyone or anything, though there might have been some inspiration. You'll see what I mean in a bit.
> 
> <><>
> 
> Chapter Playlist (yes, we're doing this again):  
> \- Devil On My Shoulder by Faith Marie  
> \- Antidote by Faith Marie  
> \- Wasted by 8 Graves  
> \- Young and Menace by Fall Out Boy
> 
> <>
> 
> Onto the fic!

 

 

 

 

_January 12, 2019_

 

 **X** _ @hereforthe_ _

Just wanted to warn my mutuals that I’ll be on my private account for a bit. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble in the fandom and I love the boys v much. I still stick by what I said + hope you all see the truth soon. Bye.

 

 **#1 Stump Fan** _@carpalxtunnelxlove_

 

@hereforthe_ I’m so fucking done with your drama. You’ve already scared enough fans and this isn’t making you look any better. Take back your fakeass apology and leave!!!

 

 **Maria <3 ** _@lakeeffectteen_

@hereforthefob_ @carpalxtunnelxlove I’m so lost???? Lmao I just followed a few days ago and haven’t seen any drama. Did I miss something?

 

 **#1 Stump Fan** _@carpalxtunnelxlove_

@lakeeffectteen she started rumors that Patrick’s been hurt or some shit. It freaked out a ton of fans since she’s a big account but it turns out she was lying. When asked for proof, she started switching the story. DM for more details.

 

 **Lily Thompson** _@emo_batman_

@carpalxtunnelxlove Nice lies, bitch! The story never changed, she said she didn’t know all the facts. But she did have texts from neighbors (in P’s town) that say he hasn’t been home AND her dad’s a cop. Too scared to admit ur fav is gone?

 

* * *

 

**foblifeforme**

 

 

> After talking with some friends and other fans, I’ve decided to finally make a post addressing those stupid Patrick rumors circulating around the fandom. I know this is something that has scared a lot of people— enough that two fans have already taken breaks from their accounts— so I think it’s best to put this to behind us by discussing what we know to be fact.
> 
>  
> 
> First of all, I want to clarify that these rumors are RUMORS. That is not up for debate. I know we like our conspiracies and jokes about the lack of Patrick content (sobs) but that does not mean we need to treat these rumors as facts or anything to be afraid of. Until the band says something, you have no reason to believe these posts.
> 
>  
> 
> Moving on, the origin of the rumors seems to be a twitter account— @hereforthe_. Apparently, sometime after new year’s, the user posted strange messages saying that she was worried about Patrick. Most fans played it off as a joke or ignored it until the next day when the user posted this screenshot of texts that were supposedly from her dad. @hereforthe_ had claimed that her dad was in law enforcement and wanted to know if Patrick Stump was that singer she likes. Upon saying yes, her dad asked her to see if the fandom had any recent news or pictures of Patrick.
> 
>  
> 
> For me, that’s when I knew it was a prank (but that’s probably because I’ve been in fandom so long). There’s no way a cop would let his daughter post such sensitive information online— let alone texts! I stopped following the story there, as did some other fans, but apparently, @hereforthe_ kept going. I’m not too caught up (and please message me if you have any more evidence of her lies!) but, from what I’ve heard, she shared more screenshots from her dad that had “proof” (texts, I’m assuming) from Patrick’s neighbors that he hasn’t been home in a week or so. She ended it by saying that her dad was going to meet with Pete to discuss Patrick’s last known whereabouts.
> 
>  
> 
> When fans started to freak out on twitter and ask for updates, @hereforthe_ stopped responding and started changing details, until posting this message about going on her private account until things settled down. In DMs with some of her mutuals, she said it was because she was in trouble with her dad for sharing the news but I think it’s pretty obvious that she was lying the whole time and was scared she was caught. Serves her right tbh.
> 
>  
> 
> I understand why some newer or younger fans might panic over this so I’d like to remind everyone that @hereforthe_ has been caught lying before (claiming to have met Patrick and stealing fan art) and each lie has been for attention. Personally, I find this one to be the most offensive since it’s caused so much panic in the fandom while also making light of actual kidnapping cases— not to mention how Patrick will feel once he hears about it!
> 
>  
> 
> And, yes, Patrick will hear about it. Friends and I have already reported and sent the tweets to the appropriate people. I expect we’ll get a statement from the band confirming Patrick’s safety in a few days. This is a serious lie and it sickens me that someone would joke about someone so precious getting hurt— just for a few follows. Ugh. I can’t with people.
> 
>  
> 
> I suggest you all block and report her, too. And remember that rumors hold no weight unless you decide to believe them.
> 
>  
> 
> If anyone has any questions about the situation, feel free to ask! 
> 
> _#fandom drama #i’m too fucking old for this #long post #discourse #this band and its fans will be the death of me_

 

**179 notes**

 

* * *

 

 **#1 Stump Fan** _@carpalxtunnelxlove_

Do my eyes betray me or did @hereforthe_ finally deactivate?? WE DID IT FOLKS. THE WITCH IS DEAD!!!!!!!

 

 **Maria <3 ** _@lakeeffectteen_

@carpalxtunnelxlove Yay!! Speaking of which, can you send me the screenshots you have of the tweets about the rumors? I know her friends said stuff too but I can’t find them…

 

 **#1 Stump Fan** _@carpalxtunnelxlove_

@lakeeffectteen I can send you the few I have. And I think her group deleted all the stuff about the rumors? I searched “Patrick + missing” and nothing came up. I guess the band’s team is cracking down or something. About time.

 

* * *

 

**fall-out-writers**

 

 

> Hello, hello, you lovely fandom! We’ve had a crazy week, what with rumors and lies about our beloved Patrick, but worry no longer! Your favorite collection of dedicated Fall Out Boy fandom writers have been hard at work to deliver you this month’s collection of fics. To start off the year, we prompted our writers with the idea of “What If.” You’ll be amazed at what they came up with this time!
> 
>  
> 
> We’ve listed our four favorites below but do check out the entire collection  here — it’s all fantastic! And did we mention that this was written during the Great Fandom Panic of the Missing Patrick? Haha! Even if that did turn out to be a hoax, your writers were still at work making sure you’d be able to ease your fears with some of their amazing words. Be sure to leave a comment to let them know just how much you appreciate it!
> 
>  
> 
> Now, onto the recs!
> 
>  
> 
>     * **And the Last Note Falls** by _@this-is-our-fedora_ : “And maybe Patrick knew, on some level, that it was only fair that this would be his loss, his pain. He’s been so lucky for so long and that luck has made him blind to every possibility he’s ignored for his life. The possibility that he could lose his music, his livelihood. The possibility that he could never return to what he knows. The possibility that one silly little hand-me-down from his family could change his entire life. As he thinks this, he laughs. Funny that luck had made him blind in that sense. Yes, it’s only fitting that his blindness would lead to _this_.”
>       * Based on [this tweet ](https://twitter.com/PatrickStump/status/398698832818479105)[where Patrick said he was “partially deaf in his right ear,](https://twitter.com/PatrickStump/status/398698832818479105)” with some details tossed in from [this tweet ](https://twitter.com/PatrickStump/status/411178927865208832)[about family members being hard of hearing](https://twitter.com/PatrickStump/status/411178927865208832). Fedora’s fic asks what would happen if Patrick lost his hearing while on tour but the plot is so much more than that. A non-shippy Fall Out Boy family story (or a polyfob fic if you squint), this is the perfect hurt/comfort tale about a group of lifelong friends coming together to help one of their own come to terms with a life-changing event. Fedora really outdid herself with all the characters’ thoughts and conversations and everyone’s reaction is so heartbreakingly realistic. We won’t go into spoilers but it’s a Fedora fic so you already know you’re going to cry! Cuddle up with some snacks and tissues and prepare for the feels trip you didn’t know you’d need!
> 

> 
>  
> 
>   * ****My Stitch Came Loose**  by _@holdonholdon-ordont : _“Imagine a world where Pete and Christina never broke up. Imagine a world where he’s still writing songs about his perfect girl, planning out his perfect life and stumbling into the fairytale love he’s always dreamed of. If you miss Wentzstina as much as I do, come along with me on this self-indulgent tale where you never have to admit they broke up!”**
> 

> 
>  
> 
>       * You all remember Pete’s last ex, Christina Ashe, right? Well, our local Wentzstina writer has done it again! “My Stitch” is exactly what the summary says, though we will warn for a bit of angst in the form of harsh arguments and shocking secrets— but what’s the fun if there isn’t any drama? Cameos from Joetrick and Frerard throughout the story and, oh my god, they are all so in character! I’m a Peterick shipper at heart but even I was in love with this portrayal of Joe and Patrick! Even though they’re side characters, you can still feel the passion in their relationship. And, speaking of relationships, the first chapter of this fic has one of the sweetest Wentzstina moments I have ever seen. This story promises true love, cat-sitting, and a proposal you’ll never forget!
> 

> 
>  
> 
>   * ****Catch Me (If You Can)** by _@gayisasynonymforme : _“It’s not that Patrick wanted to leave; it’s that Pete was making him. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as the view of their home grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror….  Warnings for missing Patricks, car wrecks, temporary amnesia, homophobic slurs, and a shit ton of angst.”**
> 

> 
>  
> 
>     * When the challenges began, Gay (yes, we finally found a nickname for our newest member of the angst clan!) asked if it would be alright to write something based on the recent Missing Patrick rumors. After some discussion to see how she’d be handling the subject matter, we decided to give her the go ahead. And, wow, are we glad we did!! Trust us, this is a Peterick story you won’t want to miss! Following the timeline given by the original rumors, “Catch Me” creates a world where a once happy Peterick relationship is falling apart— and Patrick has only one idea how to fix it. In the middle of the night, he drives away without a word, believing that Pete will only be able to find him if he truly loves him. It starts as a simple lover’s test but quickly grows dark as accidents strike and Patrick becomes far more lost than he could have ever intended. A perfect metaphor for the trials of a relationship and surprisingly realistic in its portrayals of amnesia and other medical conditions, “Catch Me” jumps straight into the truth of how horrible this world can be. Since it is based on the rumors, we advise readers to steer clear if you feel you’ll be upset by it. Otherwise, this is a fic you won’t ever forget— even if Patrick… Whoops! Spoilers!
>   * **Screams** by _@patricksvoice : _“What if monsters are real? What if they’re the ones in control? What if your favorite model or actor or singer was hiding a dark secret? Would you want to know?”
>     * Okay, okay, we know this sounds cracky but trust us, this one’s amazing in every aspect— the plot, characterization, and dreamlike writing style will mesmerize you from the very first scene. This fic starts really light-hearted but then dives into the questions of what really makes a monster a monster. Is it some predefined idea? Is it something society’s told you to believe? Is it based on looks or behaviors? Though it may be hard to pay attention past the mental image of a tentacled band (yes, there are TENTACLES), we really do suggest you take this fic seriously. Like the last one on this list, it touches on the Patrick rumors but it’s briefly mentioned and clearly noted by the author. It’s handled sensitively (even though we know the rumors are fake) and is actually a really cool, fantastical take on why anyone might think Patrick’s disappeared.
> 

> 
>  
> 
> Remember, the rest of the list is  here . If you want to sign up for next month’s fic collection, send a message and we’ll add you to the list immediately! We’re thinking next month should be based on lying fans or the fall of attention seekers. JK! Maybe.
> 
>  
> 
> Now, what are you still doing here?? Go read!!
> 
>  
> 
> — Mod A
> 
> _#fanfiction #fanfic #fall out boy #go read and support these lovely fics #our fandom is so blessed #fall-out-writers #long post_

 

**97 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

January 13

 

**geetrickrevenge**

 

 

> Hey, @ the fall out boy fandom, why the fuck would you think it’s okay to make theories about the Missing Patrick Rumors? Why the fuck would you ever joke about Patrick missing or pretend it’s some sort of cryptic bullshit the band’s planning? Why would you for a second think you can get away with treating this like it’s fake when we literally have no proof of anything yet?
> 
> Friendly fucking reminder that the band still hasn’t said whether or not Patrick’s missing. I don’t care if you think the OP has been debunked or shut down, these are still serious claims and should never be taken as a joke. Say what you want but OP had legit looking sources and, besides, we should never ignore something like this.
> 
> I don’t care if you want to be cute and play Sherlock. It’s a serious matter and should be treated as such.
> 
> I tried looking up the ACTUAL FACTS about the rumors and all I got were a bunch of shitposts about “uwu what if it has to do with X Y Z ship???” or “hahahaha let’s make a meme about this!!!11!!1” Do you know how messed up that is???
> 
> Imagine how you would feel if these rumors turned out to be true. I can assure you that no one would be laughing. And anyone who would laugh is an awful human being and shouldn’t consider themselves a fan, anyway.
> 
> It’s not that hard to wait and see what the band has to say. If it does end up being fake, go ahead and make your memes and jokes. Play-pretend all you want once this whole thing is officially over. But, for now, we should all be respectful and patient as we wait for the actual fucking facts. Y’all are insensitive little fucks and you need to grow up and realize that, yes, people can go missing and, no, it is never a joking matter. I don’t care about the hate I’m gonna get for this post, I just think it needs to be said.
> 
> Tl;dr it’s shitty to make jokes about Patrick missing if we don’t know the truth yet. Wait for what the band says like adults.
> 
> _#my post #fandoms being a bitch again #fall out boy #geetrickrambles #one day pete wentz is gonna snap @ all of you and i for one cant wait_

**119 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

# Fall Out Boy lead singer assumed missing by fans and neighbors

By **Dani Long** \- January 13, 2019

The new year wasn’t the only topic people found themselves ringing in as January began.

On January 6, residents of the Studio City area began reaching out to news sources and local police with claims that Patrick Stump, singer for pop-punk/rock band Fall Out Boy, seems to be missing.

Stump’s neighbors have shared their concerns about the singer’s unannounced absence from his home, along with home videos and pictures of police cars filling his driveway.

“I like to think I know Patrick pretty well. It’s not like him to leave for so long without any sort of message to the community,” James Doyle, a neighbor of Stump’s, wrote in an email. “And I watch his dog for him when he goes on tour so I know he would have at least let me know something about leaving for a week or longer. I hate to admit it but a lot of us are expecting the worst.”

 **  
** It wasn’t long before the same concerns reached the internet and, as a result, the Fall Out Boy fandom. A Twitter thread appeared early… ****(** **Read More** **)** **

 

* * *

  

A knock on the door. The rustle of hotel covers followed by the tired shuffle of feet across the carpet. It takes longer than it should to open the door, fingers fumbling in the dark for the handle, and the streak of light from the hallway blinds him when he finally greets the men waiting outside. Two men in suits— one grey and the other a pale blue— stare back.

At last, they enter with the professionalism of people used to barging through doors uninvited.

“Patrick.” The man in grey turns, unaffected by the dark. “I trust you slept well.”

Patrick shuts the door, locking them all in the shadows again. The man in the blue suit— Blue, as Patrick’s come to think of him— gets to work on parting the curtains but it does little to make up for the sting of having the lightbulbs taken from his room. He’d questioned it, briefly, as they moved him in but the answer was the same— always for The Culture’s benefit, never for Patrick to know. He assumes it has something to do with control and power over him, a subtle slap in the face. Everything with these people finds a way to come back to that.

“I slept fine, though I’m sure you’re aware it’s the only thing I can do in this room. Other than go crazy.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the sheets still hanging off the side after his rush to the door. The grey suit man— Grey, Patrick thinks with a wry smile— raises an eyebrow at the mess, glancing back as Blue finally ties the curtains to the side. As their eyes meet, communicating without speaking, Patrick rubs his palms against his sweats, waiting for a response that never comes. With a heavy sigh, he turns his head to glare out the window, eyes still expecting dark and burning at the sudden flash of sun. “Why am I still here? Your boss hates taking risks and the longer I’m gone, the likelier it is that someone notices. And then where we would be?”

“Actually, we’ve come to speak about exactly that.”

Blue’s tone is awful, foreboding, and Patrick’s neck nearly snaps in his haste to look back over at the two men. He bites his lip as Grey limply holds out a phone, the screen already lit and ready to be seen. Patrick hates to show emotion to these people, to give into whatever manipulations they can find, and he hates knowing that Grey’s smile means this phone will grant them whatever reaction they want. Patrick’s gotten better at shoving away his mind’s worst-case-scenario daydreams but that doesn’t stop the bitter taste of fear from flooding his mouth as he takes Grey’s phone— probably not even his phone, really. A decoy, perhaps, or one plucked from the hotel staff outside. It never really does matter how they get their information, it just matters that they have it when they want it and they clearly want Patrick to see this…

Patrick’s hand curls around the edge of the bed, nails digging into the cover as he reads the headline and first lines of the news report thrust into his face. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t dare give them the satisfaction of watching him pale or go wide-eyed, but none of that matters when his voice sounds so small. “They think I’m missing.”

Air is ice around him, blocking the voices of Grey and Blue as they stand around with their hands confidently pressed into their pockets. Patrick won’t think of worst-case-scenarios, of who called the police supposedly circling his house or how many fans have said something about the disappearance. Though he’s cold he can’t help but imagine fire, the flames blazing through the fandom and his friends as they realize he’s gone. God, it was all so much easier when no one cared, when no one was around, when no one thought of the skinny blonde boy sneaking away in dark cars late at night. Back then, he could leave for months and return as if nothing happened; the worst part is that he knows exactly what’s to blame, what’s changed.

Grey snatches his phone back, looking down at Patrick as if he’s a pest to be dealt with.

“Let’s not sugarcoat things— they _know_ you’re missing,” he says in that stupid nasally tone Patrick hates. “An unexpected development, yes, but nothing we can’t handle. You see now why we can’t let you leave. You don’t even have a story to tell the police when you return.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Patrick snaps, looking up with the fire from his imagination leaking into his eyes; it burns like tears but what he’s feeling is far from sadness. He presses into the heat, the same blaze he lights in his chest whenever he even thinks of these people. “You’re the ones always showing up without warning, asking me to leave without explanation. I’ve told you a thousand times that I need the chance to explain to people that I’ll be gone but you and your employer—”

There’s a hand at his throat, an icy grip that kills every flame still burning in his lungs. Once, Patrick might have shut his eyes and hoped for mercy; now, he holds his breaath and stares directly into the brown-black abyss of Grey’s eyes, daring him to tighten his grip.

“Our employer expects you to do your job.” Blue speaks calmly from behind Grey, strolling around as if his friend isn’t seconds from choking Patrick completely. “If you had just convinced your friend to join us, as you were asked, then we would have had no reason to come collect you. And your friend would have no reason to come looking for you in an empty house.”

Patrick gasps when Grey finally lets go, his own fingers pressing to his neck as if protecting him from further assault. He doesn’t look up but he can feel Grey’s smirk sinking into him with the precision of a well-placed blade, cutting deep without completely bleeding him out. As Patrick pants for air, he’s strangely grateful for the chance to stall. Had he the breath, his first words would have been Pete’s name and the exasperated resignation that, of course, he’d be the one sounding off all the wrong alarms.

“I just need more time with him,” Patrick says, picking his words slowly and carefully. “He’s not a problem now and he’s not going to become one.”

It’s clear the men believe him and it’s clear Patrick doesn’t care about anything more than soothing the budding bruises on his throat. The three enter a silence, an echoing stillness that screams of stalemate, and Patrick trusts it enough to close his eyes. He opens them a second later, though, after his mind conjures the cursed image of Pete’s angered face.

Why did Pete come looking for him? And when did he come searching? Long after the fight? Soon after it? Patrick doesn’t know which answer makes the most sense and it kills him, more than cruel hands at his neck, that he can’t ask Pete himself.

“Does he know you’re with us?” Blue asks, saying the words so easily— as if he’s not referring to some evil organization. Patrick could laugh but he fears such a sound would lead to a true throttling— it always has in the past.

He nods, letting his hand drop from his throat to his lap. “That’s why I left his party and why you found me alone. He learned the truth and… Well. He didn’t like it.”

Blue and Grey share a look and even Patrick, an outsider to their language, can see the mirth in their eyes. It lasts but a second but it’s enough to send chills down Patrick’s spine.

“The information about your rumors were all we were sent to discuss but I do have one more question,” Grey asks, his words thick with bitter and cruel amusement.

Patrick tenses, knowing he’ll hear the question no matter his reaction. “What?”

Grey laughs and pauses, leaning forward to get in Patrick’s face one more time. Cigarette smoke clings to his breath and yellowed teeth, choking Patrick worse than any hand could.

“Just how worried do you think your friends are for you?”

Patrick turns his head as Grey pulls back with an ugly laugh, a braying sound that should get him kicked in the gut. Blue leads him away but not before scraping his cold green eyes across Patrick’s form, searching for any sign of torment or agony. Soon though, they’re gone and Patrick’s alone, breathing deeply and harshly at the temporary release from their clutches.

In his mind, the cruel question plays on repeat, waiting for an answer, begging for an answer.

It never comes.

 

* * *

 

 **Music Note Reviews** @mn_review

Anyone else find it convenient that [@falloutboy](https://twitter.com/falloutboy?lang=en)’s lead singer goes “missing” as soon as the MANIA hype dies down? Seems more like a staged hoax than an actual crisis.

 

 **Music Note Reviews** @mn_review

Don’t pretend the so-called rumors weren’t strategically placed on a (now deleted) fan account or that we have any official word from the band. If this case was real, the band would have been the first to say something.

 

 **Music Note Reviews** @mn_review

Instead, they’re riding the wave of trending tags and hot news stories. What else should we expect from Sell Out Boy? The truth is clear— the #missingpatrick lies are a publicity stunt. I’ll be uploading a video about it later this week.

 

 **Music Note Reviews** @mn_review

Love seeing all these twelve-year-olds defend their idols even when said idols are clearly manipulating the fandom’s emotions for attention! Once this nonsense is exposed, you’ll realize how little they actually care about their fans

 

* * *

  

 

 

 

January 14

**patrickstumpsbelly**

 

 

> **distractedbybands**
> 
> I’m kinda surprised I’m the first one bringing this up but
> 
>  
> 
> How do you think Pete is handling everything (in terms of the missing Patrick stuff)? I mean, Patrick’s like his best friend, right? I can’t imagine what I would do if my best friend was suddenly gone one day…
> 
>  
> 
> I’m not saying this so that people will go bothering him (and, god, please don’t !!!) but I just think we should be sending him some love, too. We know how much he loves Patrick (and that’s not just my Peterick heart speaking) so I’m just wondering why we’re not sending some love back at him
> 
>  
> 
> Come on, guys, how would you feel if your ~~boyfriend~~ best friend disappeared? Send some good vibes Pete Wentz’s way, too, please!
> 
>  

_#petericknotpeterick #sorrynotsorry #lowkey shipping but also srsly worried about my boys_

 

OH MY GOD OHM Y GOD I AM SCREAMING. YOU ACTUALLY TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS ALL OUT OH MY FUCKING GOD.

 

Next time you write out such a severely insensitive post, maybe hide your shipping tags? Lmaooooo this entire post sucks

_#fall out boy #peterick warning #this fandom is the worst_

 

**117 notes**

 

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* * *

 

 

Pete shuts down his computer.

His fingers linger on the keys as he pulls back, eyes glazed from too many nights of staring at a screen that won’t offer any answers. He’d shut his eyes, try to get some rest, but all he sees in the dark is Patrick.

Patrick.

It's always Patrick.

Pete stands with the urgency of a man who knows he’ll be sick if he sits any longer, staring at half-torn sheets of paper filled with every impossible situation where Patrick leaves. He’s scoured every site he knows, every corner of the fandom and beyond, and listed the theories that have been passed around like a flashlight in the dark. His fingers, sore and bent from hours of typing and writing and pulling at his hair, flatten against the cool surface of his desk and he struggles to breathe.

Pathetic.

A phone rings somewhere in the house, still abandoned from the last time he used it to talk with the police about the case. He should probably go find it, go answer it, go see if there’s any news, but his limbs refuse to comply with logic. His mind’s too caught up on the reality that there’s a _case_.

Pete was the one to find the house empty, New Year’s Day turning into night. He was the one knocking on windows and tapping in the garage code.

He was the one whose chest was carved into with a searing knife as he looked around the hollow home, trying to understand how Patrick— Patrick, who he’d seen just the night before— could vanish. He didn’t call the police right away and it was for the same reason he avoids them now.

He knew something was wrong, the way he’d know if his heart decided to stop. He just didn’t want to admit it was real so he waited. Waited and waited until days went by without an answer to his phone calls, until a week went by and people were asking him where Patrick was. Was he supposed to know?

Nine days after the disappearance, Pete found himself in the police department begging them to bring Patrick back. And they’d asked questions, poked and prodded at his story until he confessed the way he wandered in and out of Patrick’s home like a ghost, convinced he’d walk into the right room and find Patrick waiting for him. He told of how he stayed awake until he was tired enough that life seemed like a dream, a nightmare he could wake from.

But opening his eyes only led him here. Desperate and alone and as empty as the home Patrick left behind.

He wonders, as the shrill screeching of his phone burrows into his brain, if Patrick realized he’d be leaving Pete, too. Did he forget about everyone who loved him? Or did he drift into this absence the way Pete always feared he would— eyes open and back turned?

A selfish part of Pete— a horrible part of Pete— hopes that Patrick was taken just so he doesn’t have to live with the fear that he was the one to drive him away.

Pete’s eyes shut. His phone stops and then promptly begins ringing again.

He knows what they want, the people on the other side. They want a confirmation of the rumors leaked onto forums and social sites. They want a reaction, a reason, a new headline to toss onto the doorsteps of the world’s more ravenous readers. Does it make Pete brave to refuse? Or does it just make him wrong?

_It makes you cruel_

They’re words Patrick’s never said but they’re whispered in his voice all the same. Because, Pete knows, Patrick might cry at Pete’s disappearance, might throw things and threaten friends, but he would never leave the fans in the dark. He’d never be so cruel.

Pete can’t find Patrick, a thought that buries into his brain like a knife. He can’t bring him home.

But he can make sure this story— this danger, the tragedy— isn’t hidden away.

The phone rings.

Pete turns to find it.

 

* * *

 

# BREAKING NEWS: Fall Out Boy’s Patrick Stump confirmed missing

By **Samantha Duff** \- January 14, 2019

 

Earlier today, Pete Wentz confirmed the disappearance of famed rock singer Patrick Stump.

 

Stump, known best for his work as Fall Out Boy’s vocalist, has been presumed missing since January 1 when Wentz, Fall Out Boy's bassist, visited what turned out to be an empty home.

 

Police have been searching for Stump since January 9, after Wentz made the call. There is no news yet on whether they suspect foul play.

 

Wentz, often considered Stump’s closest friend, gave nothing but facts and numbers in the short call made to the publication’s offices early this morning. He claimed his reason for calling is for both his and the fandom’s benefit.

 

“It’s only fair for the kids to know that Patrick’s missing,” Wentz said. “I want them to know we’re doing the best we can to find him. I’m also hoping that spreading the word will bring him back.”

 

Wentz said he doesn’t know if Patrick’s been taken or if he’s in hiding but he did add that current facts point to the former theory.

 

“It’s pretty f*cking big that he didn’t talk to anyone before disappearing,” he said. “I don’t think he’s ever done that. Our communication's great— he always talks to me. I know him and this isn’t him.”

 

Wentz’s statement follows a week of rumors from fansites and tabloids, as discussed in a  previous article . Though Wentz didn’t mention his thoughts or knowledge of such things, it can be assumed the internet discussions are what forced him to speak.

 

Another member of the band, Joseph Trohman, also reached out in response to interview requests. While it’s unknown if the two calls are connected, Trohman’s message was similar to Wentz’s in subject matter and urgency.

 

“We’re working closely with police and other professionals to figure this out. We all just want Patrick back,” Trohman said. “And we want to make sure we’re going about it the right way. Pete’s arguably better at taking control in these situations but this is obviously hitting him hard. You probably won’t hear too much from him during this time.”

 

Trohman agreed to come in for a video interview later this week. Our publication expects to have this posted soon.

 

Sign up to our mailing list to always be in the know! 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_January 15_

 

**fobreactionmemes**

 

 

> **do-not-tap-the-glass**
> 
> Guys, I just woke up to the news about Patrick and I really didn’t want the rumors to be true but they are and I can’t stop crying oh my god. I’ve been up for just a few hours and I don’t even want to be awake anymore. I don’t want to be existing right now bc my reason for living was PATRICK and he’s gone and it’s not fair okay it’s not.
> 
>  
> 
> Patrick Stump is a beautiful, perfect, amazing man who deserves to be home with his family right now instead of wherever he is. I just keep thinking of that time I met him during the hiatus and how _nice_ he had been to me. If I had known that this would happen, I would have hugged him so much tighter and never let go. I can’t even look at my FOB tattoo without hurting. I’m shaking so badly and I’m gonna throw up someone please tell me this is a bad dream……
> 
>  
> 
> FUck I can’t even imagine what his friends and family are going through right now… I wish all of them the best, so so much. Patrick better be brought home to us. I don’t even want to think of what I’ll do if something bad happens. I’m just going to hope and pray for the best.

 

I’m really wishing I didn’t log on today…… :( And yeah. Make sure you don’t bother any of the boys (or anyone who knows Patrick IRL) about this. They’re human beings and they deserve the space they need to figure this all out.

_#patrick stump #fall out boy #not a meme #genuinely heartbroken about this #if anyone hurts him theyre going to face the wrath of the entire fandom is2g #i miss him already #fob #missing patrick #if anyone needs to talk #my inbox and messages are always open_

 

**1,024 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

 **peterick-warrior**  

 

 

> **fuckin-chicago-boys**
> 
> Finding out about Patrick has left me absolutely heartbroken and empty. I know we’re just “fans” but it really does feel like someone I know has been taken from me. I love him so much and am praying to every god i dont believe in that he comes home safe.
> 
> I also hate to be the one asking this but do we have any real theories about what’s going on? I’ve seen a ton of questions on this site and from news sources but no one has any answers. I feel like it will help a lot of people if we can get some sort of theory going… Reply or send me thoughts?

Thats bc no one has any answers… A lot of people are talking about Trick running away but I don’t think he’d do that tbh. And that leaves a lot of scarier options that no one wants to talk about. Making that into the main conspiracy will only make things worse for people. Sorry but it’s better if we leave that to the pros.

_#missing patrick #reblog #not peterick #i’m so fucking mad at this whole situation sorry if it sounds like i’m taking it out on you #i’m just upset that he’s gone #of all the goddamn ppl in the world… #i’m actually pretty fucking enraged about it #if he’s not back soon i’m gonna kill someone_

**75 notes**

* * *

 

The couch they’ve left him on is itchy, to say the least, scraping against the inside of Joe’s wrist everytime he tries to shift. He clothes are too tight, dragged free from the back of his closet after Marie convinced him to get to his feet to make the interview on time.

God, it’s not even like he should be here. Pete’s the guy always doing the talking, covering up for everyone’s messes. But Pete’s… Well. Pete’s broken and Joe’s halfway there, the cracks expanding each time he remembers that Patrick’s gone. Every time he wants to text him a witty joke or needs to call him for a good ol’ rant session… He aches. He aches and he hurts and he cracks.

But he’s not Pete. He’s not shattered entirely.

And so he’s here.

At exactly the wrong time, the door opens and his interviewer comes in. A tall man with a bright smile and brighter blond hair, wearing a loose jacket and introducing himself as Steve. Joe barely pays attention as Steve explains the set-up, the cameras and time limit and expected questions. Joe toys with the mic clipped to his shirt, a makeshift distraction from something that should have never happened. It would be easier if he wasn’t alone but Andy’s states away and Pete’s not answering his phone and Patrick’s…

Patrick’s the reason he’s here.

“Okay, five. Four. Three. Two.” They count down from behind their fancy cameras, wearing those fancy fake smiles. Joe internally shakes his head and drops his hands. He tries to remember what his publicist told him to say.

“Hi, we’re here today with Joe from Fall Out Boy.” Steve is suddenly speaking and Joe’s suddenly struggling to keep up, to pay attention, to remember where he is and why. It's off and it's wrong and he's sick. He’s never had to worry about questions and answers before. “Thank you so much for coming in to speak with us. We understand this must be a tough time for all of you.”

Joe’s hand half raises before he remembers that the mic is clipped to him, that he’d been playing with it just a few moments ago. God, what’s wrong with him today? What’s wrong with everything?

“No… No problem, man,” he says, not bothering to try for anything other than nervous. “It’s like we said. We just want to keep the fans in the loop.”

“Of course.” Sympathy or pity or feigned understanding. Steve nods his head in gentle, practiced bobs and Joe’s entranced by the motion. It’s almost like how Patrick would nod along to every interview question before answering or how he’d nod toward the crowd during a particularly good show or how— “We do want to express our deepest sympathies and support for everything you and your friends are going through. I… I can’t imagine what you must be feeling as this case unfolds. And, y’know, I’ve seen probably a hundred tweets an hour asking if we have updates. Everyone wants him back just as much you do.”

_Then why did anyone take him in the first place?_

Joe doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes or the camera when he speaks. “Thanks. It means a lot.”

A pause. A breath.

Steve moves on and Joe wonders whether the moment of silence was scripted.

“Obviously we don’t want to push you to speak about things that will make you uncomfortable or go against what you’re allowed to say but we are very curious about the whole situation.” Straight from consolations to interrogations. At this, at least, Joe quirks up a half-hearted smile.

“Everything I say goes to the police, I’m sorry. We just can’t risk—” Surely, that’s what his publicist told him to say?

But Steve doesn’t play along, brushing away the words like a gnat in the air. “We won’t ask about any of the legalities, that’s clearly out of line. But can you just tell us about Patrick? The last time you saw him and if you noticed anything was wrong?”

“If I noticed anything, it obviously didn’t matter. He was still gone the next day.” Joe doesn’t mean to snap or glare to lose his cool but that man just said _Patrick’s_ name and what gives him the right to speak it so comfortably? Steve keeps staring and Joe gives in, hunching in on himself with a pathetic shrug. “I don’t know. We were at Pete’s New Year’s Eve party. Everything was… We were all having fun. It was just a few close friends from around the area. We were watching the countdown and… Well, I didn’t see much of Patrick towards the end. He left early, I know that.”

It’s the same script he gave the police, the same furrowed brows as he sees the scene in his mind. Streamers hanging from the ceiling, still swaying from the air that had come in when Patrick stormed out. Balloons lying limply on the floor, guests staring as even Ruby tugged at Joe’s shirt and asked what was wrong. The TV in the background, the cheerful celebrations of people miles away as Pete watched Patrick leave.

“Early? Why?” Steve’s inquisitive tone reminds Joe that this isn’t the police interrogation from before, the cold questions with no room for emotion. It’s an interview and, somehow, those are always worse.

“He and Pete fought. I don’t know what about but—”

“Fought?” And Steve’s pale eyebrows shoot up, his eyes lighting with conspiracy and drama as he shoots a knowing gaze at the camera. And what exactly does he know? Does he know how red in the face Patrick got when Pete asked him to calm down? Does he know how Pete’s screaming words turned to pleading cries when he realized Patrick was leaving? Does he know? Does he know? Does he know a damn thing about them?

Joe knows. Joe knows and that makes him better, smarter. That makes him _dangerous_.

“Yeah. They fought.”

Perhaps Steve reads the challenge in Joe’s voice because he fires back a bullet of his own. “Do they do that often?”

“Not like this.” Joe’s on fire, he’s burning, he’s a smoking gun waiting to happen. He’s rambling and he’s distracted and, fuck, that’s such a Patrick thing to be. Patrick. Patrick. Patrick. Patrick’s on his mind and nothing else so Joe forgets the rules when he blurts out, “It was the worst fight they’ve had since getting together.”

The shot rings out. The smoke clears.

Slowly setting down his script, Steve leans forward. He smells blood and he won’t let the prey go. “Together?”

Joe’s mouth is dry as he looks for help, looks for an escape, looks for someone who just won’t show up no matter how Joe screams. “Yeah, since the band got back together, I mean. They fought a lot before the hiatus but now—”

“You said since _they_ got together.” Forget sympathy and pity, Steve has his eye on a story and Joe can already see the headline forming in his eyes. “Are you insinuating that—”

“This interview is over.” Joe stands and tugs at his shirt, trying to untangle himself from the mic catching every staggered breath, every broken curse. “I need to leave, this was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come and—”

Steve’s still asking his questions as Joe’s ushered away, shaking and trembling and ready to puke. Steve’s still telling the camera exactly what he thinks happened.

And Joe is still speaking about mistakes and apologies that won't matter anyway.

 

* * *

 

 **From:** [ Trohman.Joe@gmail.com ](mailto:Trohman.Joe@gmail.com)

**To:** [ PlkwIII@gmail.com ](mailto:PlkwIII@gmail.com)

**Subject:** [no subject]

 

Please just answer your damn phone. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn't mean to make things worse, I never wanted to make things worse. I was just trying to help, I'm  _sorry_

 

.... I wish I could tell him sorry, too....

 

Just call me back. Or anyone. You need to talk to someone before we lose you next.

 

* * *

 

 

**bring-patrick-home**

 

 

> I know we’re still waiting for the Joe interview to be uploaded (and that we’re all hoping for it to have some more information about Patrick…) and I can’t help but feel,,,, useless? Like, I’ve spent half my life loving and supporting these guys but now that something serious has happened I can’t do anything? It sucks. And I know a lot of people must be feeling just as lost.
> 
>  
> 
> It’s not anything helpful to the “case” (can I admit I hate calling it that? It makes it too criminal mindsy and that’s just. no) but I think it can help cheer up the fandom. I want everyone to post their favorite Patrick pics/gifs/vids/stories/quotes/whatever! And add a little message about how much you love him <3 Hopefully it can be something nice to focus on until he gets back.
> 
>  
> 
> And he will be back. The world just wouldn’t be the same without Patrick Stump.
> 
>  
> 
> I’ll start! Here’s my pic! God, he just takes my breath away… I really hope he's safe...
> 
> _#LITERALLY THE BEST BOY #also pls do this i want to feel the patrick love and forget everything bad in the world_

**513 notes**

 

* * *

  

 

 

_January 16_

 

Ignorance is bliss and denial is hell. Pete understands this on an intimate level.

Over two weeks without Patrick. Two weeks and it’s so stupidly ironic because “two weeks” has always been their thing. An inside joke they teased the world with; a promise they sang each night until it finally meant something.

Two weeks. Two weeks and Pete’s still waiting for this to be a joke or dream-- whichever happens first.

He doesn’t speak to anyone anymore, doesn’t bother answering his phone or the door. His mouth only remembers the shape of Patrick’s name; his hands can only recall the warmth of his skin. It’s like a limb’s been detached from Pete’s body in his sleep and he’s just floundering through life while people try to tell him to work around it.

Fuck that.

“Patrick,” he calls into the empty darkness of his living room, decorations from that stupid party still hanging from the walls. Each one beats him like a soldier's foot against the battleground but anything is better than retreating to his bedroom. There, the silence screams. “Patrick.”

He shuts his eyes.

“Patrick.”

He folds his hands into fists, still feeling nothing even as blunt nails dig into the sensitive flesh of his palm.

“Patrick.”

How many times is he to say his name? What’s the magic number for this incantation? A thousand times already, he’s begged for Patrick’s return. A million times, he knows, he’s whispered and pleaded and begged-- all to no avail.

His phone buzzes from the floor in front of the couch he’s sprawled across, burning into the darkness with a light that has him peeling his eyes back open. He waits for the glow to fade, staring at shadows until the notification is gone.

And then he picks the phone up.

It’s nothing new, just another friend asking him to leave his house as if that will ever be possible again. It’s like the universe is testing him with impossible tasks; if he makes it to the end of his driveway, can he have Patrick back?

Patrick.

Looking at his texts, Pete can still see the last messages he’d sent to him. The questions of where he is, the demands to know if he’s safe. Pete had sent them in rapid-fire succession until finding Patrick’s phone dead in the kitchen. Pete still vividly recalls how suddenly his stomach had sunk.

Before those texts, though, they’re happy. He clicks on Patrick’s conversation, knowing full well that it will sting but not caring because at least pain is distracting. Those texts, the ones before the panic and fear, are sweet. Checking in on each other’s days, reminding one another of medications or appointments or meetings, dropping “I love you” like those words were made to replace goodbye or hello. Pete misses messages like those. Even his phone is empty without Patrick.

Is there any part of his life Patrick didn’t touch?

Pete’s broken. He knows it by the way he forgets to breathe each time he comes across a picture of Patrick’s face. He’s broken and he knows it by the way he can barely function on his own, hidden away in his house like an animal when he should be on the streets looking for the man he loves.

Further up in the messages, he comes across the 3 am text walls of deep conversation. In this one, Patrick had asked Pete if he wanted to come out publicly as a couple.

And Pete, sleep-deprived but so in love, had said yes.

They planned it out meticulously, the way one might plan a wedding. They both knew their ideas were nigh impossible— a kiss onstage, a carefree post online, a photo of the two anonymously leaking to the press— and they knew they would never agree just how to do it. But during that one morning, it had sounded nice. Like a dream Patrick was building for him, he’d promised peace and happiness and a happily ever after.

 _“I just want people to know how much I love you,”_ Patrick had said when Pete called him in the middle of a text, checking to see how serious he was. _“I want them to know that I would do anything for you.”_

_“Even this?”_

_“Even this.”_

With two words, he promised to endure hate and ridicule and insults as certain as their love. Patrick-- the man terrified of his own insecurities-- would do even this.

And Pete had gone along. Sometime in the new year, they’d agreed. Sometime soon but not now.

Now.

Tomorrow, that video of Joe’s interview will go online. Tomorrow, Patrick’s name, the way only Pete can say it, won’t be his any longer. Every facet of affection will be put under a microscope, dissected before it’s fully dead. He’s a specimen again, writhing beneath scalpels and knives as masked faces search for something precious to steal.

This time, they found Patrick and the surgery is certain to be swift. They'll mark out each incision, plan out the way they'll cut into the couple' right to say when they're ready. Pete will fall asleep and, when he wakes, the choice that was supposed to be his and Patrick's will be locked in a jar on everyone's shelf. And they'll name it whatever they want just because they found it first.

Pete closes out from his messages but forgets that it leaves him with his wallpaper— the pretty little picture of him and Patrick backstage before a show. Elliott had taken it and sent it only to Pete, a few days after the tour was through. In the picture, Pete and Patrick are closer than any best friend should be, hands holding onto shirts and eyes clinging to lips. Pete remembers it the way he remembers every kiss with Patrick; it was perfect, desperate, daring.

It was so wonderfully them.

Their secret.

Their moment.

Theirs.

Must Pete give it up? Even this?

He rubs his thumb across the image, telling himself he'll feel warmth when he skims across Patrick’s face.

“For you,” he says, his voice as broken as his heart as his mind settles onto its decision. “Yes. Even this.”

 

* * *

 

# BREAKING NEWS: Pete Wentz confesses to hidden relationship with singer Patrick Stump

By **Samantha Duff** \- January 16, 2019

 

Once again, Pete Wentz has rocked the music world with another sudden call regarding his band’s lead singer. This time, instead of elaborating on rumors or police updates, he let the world know that he and his singer have been in a committed relationship…

 

* * *

 

The corners of Patrick’s vision fizzle into a haze as he shoves the phone back at Grey. He keeps his mouth shut for once as Grey and Blue smile at each other and he hopes his focused glare at the carpet will keep them from seeing the hurt in his eyes.

That’s not how this was supposed to go. That’s not how any of this was supposed to go.

He and Pete were so supposed to say it _together_ . They were supposed to plan it _together_. Each word was supposed to be theirs, the result of their shared ideas. It wasn’t supposed to be some spur of the moment phone call to whatever shady publication was running this shit. It wasn’t supposed to be something Patrick found out late at night after Grey and Blue storm in with smiles like they won everything they ever wanted from him.

It wasn’t ever supposed to be this.

“Patrick,” Blue says, snapping his fingers as if Patrick’s some kind of fucking dog he owns. Still, Patrick looks up, blinking quick and hoping the dark keeps them from seeing how damp his eyes have become. The curtains are still parted, stars and moon glistening in with their pale lights, but it’s not enough; it’s not nearly enough to reveal a thing. “Why didn’t you tell us about your relationship with Wentz?”

Patrick’s hands ball into fists at his side.

“Why didn’t you catch on?” He asks, turning to glare out the window. The city blinks up at him; he wonders if Pete is out there. “We weren’t exactly subtle and I know you had your people watching me. Maybe if you paid more attention to that—”

“You forget that you are one of our people,” Grey replies with a sharp tone. “And you had a job to make Wentz one of us, too. I fail to see how you couldn’t change his mind about joining The Culture.”

Patrick chokes, nails digging into his hands.

Oh, yes, The Culture. The people with strings pinned into everyone’s back, the people with no name but with the plan to control the world. The people with enough blackmail to bring stars to their knees, with the power to make anyone say or do whatever The Culture wants.

The people Patrick should have never involved himself with. Not if it led to this.

“Because maybe he changed my mind first,” Patrick says, finally meeting Grey’s eyes. In the dark, they look like black holes. “Maybe I don’t want to be one of your people anymore.”

For once, the room falls silent.

“Are you sure about that, Patrick?” Blue asks. Grey steps closer, fists tightened.

Patrick refuses to look away. 

He wants them to feel his tears.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

# BREAKING NEWS: Pete Wentz confesses to hidden relationship with singer Patrick Stump

By **Samantha Duff** \- January 16, 2019

 

Once again, Pete Wentz has rocked the music world with another sudden call regarding his band’s lead singer. This time, instead of elaborating on rumors or police updates, he let the world know that he and his singer have been in a committed relationship for the past two years.

 

The relationship developed between the releases of their albums _American Beauty/American Psycho_ and the more recent _MANIA_ , Wentz said. While supporting the former album in Reading and Leeds in 2016, Stump confessed to Wentz about emotions left over from what Wentz says Stump described as “a teenage crush.”

 

Wentz said he also had a crush on the singer in the band’s early years but never expected anything to come from it.

 

“The entire world knew how I felt about Patrick back then,” Wentz said. “I never… considered that he could have ever felt the same way about me. It’s kinda wild to think about.”

 

Wentz had been recovering from a sudden break-up with his longtime girlfriend Christina Ashe when Stump supposedly confessed his feelings to him. Wentz said Stump’s confession was a  shocking but not unwelcome surprise.

 

“I just remember feeling really lucky and, like, certain that I was going to wake up from some dream when he said it. Or, I guess he didn’t really say anything, at all, at first,” Wentz said. “We were listening to some new song he was working on before the show. We were really close and I was just amazed at what he was doing. I said as much-- praised him a little, y'know-- and then he was kissing me.”

 

The song Stump was showing Wentz was the beginning of what Wentz would describe as “The MANIA Experience.” The song, “Young and Menace”, kicked off both the band’s next album cycle and Wentz’s next venture into a serious relationship.

 

The romance began as a series of nightly visits and stolen kisses, Wentz said, but he and Stump eventually agreed on trying something more.

 

“I didn’t want to go for the whole dating thing at first because I just got out of a relationship that I thought was going to last forever. There was also some fear that I was going to mess things up with (Patrick),” Wentz said. “But then it became pretty obvious that avoiding that was just adding some unnecessary tension to something that should have been easy for us.”

 

Wentz said that speculations and fan theories about their relationship prevented the two from speaking about the development sooner.

 

“A relationship like that is a really delicate thing,” Wentz said. “And I mean it more than it being sort of taboo because, obviously, we’re two dudes. I just know how people react to this sort of thing and I didn’t want to expose Patrick to that.”

 

The revelation of this relationship— known as Peterick to followers of the band— is the second Stump related story to hit the news this week. The first refers to the earlier rumors, now known as facts, that Stump is missing.

 

Wentz said he was one of the last to speak with Patrick before the disappearance on New Year’s Day.

 

“It’s important to me that I’m the one to explain what happened when he left,” Wentz said. “I know there are gonna be a lot of rumors later about this and I want to clear it up before that has a chance to happen.”

 

Wentz said he and Stump were fighting the night before Stump disappeared. While Wentz wasn’t clear on what the argument was about, he hinted that it had to do with an unnamed group Stump had recently joined.

 

“There are a lot of things I found out about him that led to the fight,” Wentz said. “He’s a great guy— a perfect guy— and I don’t want any of my words to keep anyone from believing that. But I also think it’s important to express that I didn’t approve of what he was doing and that manifested as anger that was pretty unfair for either of us to have. I… don’t want to say more about it but, yeah, that’s all the fight was.”

 

Wentz plans on continuing to work with police to find his missing singer. He says he’s trying to keep an optimistic mindset on the situation and that recent support from fans has helped.

 

“We all want the same thing: Patrick back,” Wentz said. “I want it more than anything else in this world and I would do anything to make that happen.”

  
 

 


	2. January 17 - January 25 (He's Just A Liar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone loves Patrick. And the people who don't believe that?
> 
> Deluded fucking fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey, hey! Another chapter that took literally forever to format! Yay!!
> 
> Also, oh my god, thank you so much for the love the first chapter got!!! I was actually amazed by it because this started as one of those fics where you think it's the greatest thing until you post it-- then you're just convinced it sucks. So I am amazed that so many enjoyed what they saw so far!! Now I just gotta live up to the hype, haha
> 
> Fun fact, I'm also amazed at the fact that none of these usernames (that I can tell) are in use? Come on, guys, these are great!
> 
> Anyway, on with the fic. I hope you enjoy and I hope it's not confusing :)
> 
> <>
> 
> Chapter Playlist:  
> \- Two Birds by Regina Spektor  
> \- King by Lauren Aquilina  
> \- Promiseland by MIKA  
> \- Hum Hallelujah by Fall Out Boy
> 
> <>
> 
> One more note: Shoutout to soiburieditalive on tumblr for making lovely art for this fic!! I'm in love with it, okay? And it's the sweetest thing ever.
> 
> Check it out here: https://soiburieditalive.tumblr.com/post/181968608942/hum-my-name-i-read-the-first-chapter-of-and-this

 

_January 17_

 

 **miss-missing-patrick**  

 

> Hey! So I made this blog because we’re obviously all worried about Patrick and I think it would be a better use of our time to actually try to do something instead of mope around. So….. *drum roll* the Save Patrick blog!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Hear me out— I’m not saying we stop with the hashtags and positivity threads, those are great! But, basically, I was hoping we can also focus on theories and any other ideas people might have. I’ve seen a ton of other people mentioning a need for a blog that will basically compile all of this so I took matters into my own hands and made one! The title obviously comes from one of my fav FOB songs and it’s also kinda fitting given everything that’s going on? I mean, we were already doing hashtag missing Patrick… this version is more fan-related and unique to the people who best know and care about him.
> 
>  
> 
> I’m in no way trying to be disrespectful with this. Anyone who knows me knows that I literally owe Patrick Stump my life and the last thing I would want is to make matters worse. But our fandom can be really smart and dedicated when we need to be and, as long as the official search isn’t sharing their news, it’s best if we band together to figure things out. I’ve already started compiling the theories I’ve seen and will start posting those once this gets a bigger following.
> 
>  
> 
> So, yeah. I’ll keep submissions and stuff open but I’m only going to post the serious/plausible theories. I’ll also be tracking the tag “miss missing Patrick” and “missing Patrick” since that seems to be mostly what a ton of the fandom has been using. Please keep the tags clean from spam! There are at least twenty posts in the missing Patrick tag that are just barely related to FOB and another twelve that are from new fans who don’t understand what the tag is for. Understandable and also kinda heartbreaking.
> 
>  
> 
> Please share and send things in!!!!
> 
> _#fob #fall out boy #miss missing patrick #patrick stump #fob #fob theories #patrick theories #ummm what am i forgetting #oh #signal boost_

**538 notes**

* * *

 

 _From:_ Unknown Number

 _To:_ Brendon Urie

 _Texts Received:_ Friday, Jan 18, 3:01 AM

 

> B?
> 
> It’s me btw
> 
> This is your number right?

_From:_ Brendon Urie

 _To:_ Unknown Number

 _Texts Sent:_ Friday, Jan 18, 3:17 AM

 

> P???
> 
> Shit. Of course it is.
> 
> Is everything alright? You’ve never been gone this long before.
> 
> Pete’s losing his mind. People know you’re missing. Your typical stories and excuses won’t work this time. It’s not gonna be easy coming back.

_From:_ Unknown Number

 _To:_ Brendon Urie

 _Texts Received:_ Friday, Jan 18, 3:24 AM

 

> Yeah. I know. And they know btw.
> 
> Things are different this time. I’m trying to get out of it.
> 
> For good…
> 
> I don’t want to be part of them anymore.

_From:_ Brendon Urie

 _To:_ Unknown Number

 _Texts Sent:_ Friday, Jan 18, 3:27 AM

 

> Holy shit
> 
> Dude, I sincerely hope you didn’t tell them that
> 
> ??? Don’t make me worry for you, man. You said you wouldn’t do anything stupid. I trusted you not to do anything stupid.
> 
> This isn’t fucking funny. Tell me you didn’t say that.
> 
> …
> 
> Is it good to call you?

_From:_ Unknown Number

 _To:_ Brendon Urie

 _Texts Received:_ Friday, Jan 18, 3:38 AM

 

> No
> 
> No calling.
> 
> There’s nothing to talk about.
> 
> Just keep Pete safe. Keep him out of things.
> 
> Don’t let him find out.

_From:_ Brendon Urie

 _To:_ Unknown Number

 _Texts Sent:_ Friday, Jan 18, 3:40 AM

 

> I don’t know if I can do that
> 
> But I’ll try
> 
> P?
> 
> I can only do that if you stay safe, too
> 
> Make sure you come back to us
> 
> I’m trusting you to come back

**  
_Read:_ 4:42 AM **

* * *

 

 

_January 18_

“The last thing I want to do is lie or give you false hope so I’m only going to say this once— there’s no possible way you understand the situation. And there’s no way that a stupid mission into the unknown will change whatever Patrick’s already started.” Brendon’s blunt, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Pete. The room’s still dark and Pete’s still seated in his desk, scrawling onto sheets of papers as if connecting the lines a certain way will lead him to Patrick. Brendon goes to switch on the lights but thinks better of it, heading for the curtains instead. It’s midday, for god’s sake, and Pete probably hasn’t seen natural light since…

Well, since he locked himself away from the rest of the world and tricked himself into thinking this is what Patrick would want. Though, Brendon thinks with a sigh, at least he’s safe if he’s locked up. At least he’s not doing anything stupid.

Like he is now. Or, at least, like he’s planning to do.

Pete stills for a heartbeat, flinching like a vampire in the sun, and Brendon doesn’t know if it’s in reaction to the sudden light or the careless drop of Patrick’s name. When he moves again, it’s not to write; it’s to turn and focus a tired yet determined gaze on Brendon.

“And what has he started?” He asks. His voice creaks— croaks and breaks— and not all of it is due to disuse. “What exactly do you know?”

An accusation, one Brendon knows he deserves no matter how he cringes away from the tone. His hand slips into his pocket, wrapping around his phone and rubbing against the screen. Hours ago, he had contact. Hours ago, he had more answers than the police could hope to achieve.

Hours ago, he had something Pete would kill for.

“I know Patrick,” he says, watching Pete’s face shatter just that one fraction more. A distraction, something to force him to turn away. “And I thought you did, too. Fuck, Pete, do you really think he’d want you to toss yourself into such a meaningless quest? Would he want you to waste your time with play-pretend codes and conspiracies?”

“That’s not an answer,” Pete says, standing. He doesn’t cross the room to Brendon, though those fists at his sides promise he wishes he could. Instead, he only moves the few steps it takes to stand beside the half-packed bag he’d been working on when Brendon first arrived. Filled with clothes and money and more notepads than Brendon thought Pete owned, it speaks of a plan Brendon would rather stop before it begins.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” He asks, running a hand through his hair. “That all your assumptions about some Illuminati club are true? That I have all the answers to your problems? That I even know where he is? You know I don’t.”

“I know you know something.”

True enough and not worth lying about. Brendon’s been expecting that Pete would know about Patrick’s activities sooner or later— be it through initiation of his own or the simple act of catching onto something that’s not that subtle, anyway. Arrogantly, though, his daydreams had always allowed him a bit more control in the matter— the opportunity to wait before revealing his part rather than needing to cover for someone else. And he certainly had never imagined Patrick would be the one he’s covering for.

Not that it doesn’t make some sort of ironic or poetic sense that it’s come to this. How foolish he had been, sneaking Patrick’s name into cult meetings and pretending the pretty blond boy on his tour could distract The Culture from him for a few months, years, lifetimes. Perhaps bringing Patrick into this world was what dug this grave— no matter who ends up lying in it.

At the time, it all fit so well; Patrick was older— sadder— but no less desperate, no different than Brendon had been when his own band had split and he was left struggling to find his place in the world. Patrick, a man Brendon both admired and respected, was reduced to scraping his nails across the bottom rung he’d fallen upon in life and Brendon saw a way to help.

He keeps telling himself that, regardless of how distracting Patrick might have been to the leaders, Brendon’s original goal was to help. Drunken stupors and depressed blogs were going to leave Patrick in ruins or worse. Patrick needed someone who could promise paradise; he needed someone to tell him he had a purpose. Brendon made the words sound pretty even if they had sat like bile on his tongue, telling The Culture how much promise Patrick held.

And they had listened. They never spoke, never told Brendon about their conversations with Patrick— how they persuaded him, how they’ve kept him— but he knows their tactics. He knows what possibilities are safe to guess.

This disappearance is only the beginning if Patrick broke any of their rules; if he tried to leave, foolishly and desperately— tricking himself into believing such a thing can be done. He may be The Culture’s favorite tool but a tool can still be broken; a tool can still be replaced and thrown away.

Is this the secret Pete needs to hear? Is this the way to keep him safe? Either way, Patrick will be destroyed.

Brendon refuses to play any more parts in that.

The room comes to life around him as he blinks and takes the present moment back in. The curtains flutter, the fan fills the room with its shuddering sound, the very walls seem to judge him as he steps back against it.

And only Pete is still.

“Fine. Find him. Or, at least, try.” Brendon watches the fires in Pete’s eyes flicker back to life as if they’d been awaiting permission; as if they’d been expecting to against the absence of it. They burn with flames that may burn down any conspiracy, lights to seek out every lie and truth alike. Brendon doesn’t know if Pete will like what those eyes find but he knows one thing for sure— there’s no way to put out a fire like that. “But only go if you know that you’ll bring him home. No matter what.”

Pete’s fists open into widened palms, accepting the blessing without understanding it. He nods sharply, zipping up his pack and letting the sharp sound linger in the air.

“I promise,” he says and he sounds so sure that Brendon has to laugh— cruel, cold, careless. Pete draws back but his voice remains as certain as ever. “Do you think that I care about any sort of danger? If Patrick’s caught in something, then—”

“Then maybe it’s best if you don’t know it.” Brendon’s voice cuts through Pete’s, softening only at the end. It’s a pattern he hates but it’s a pattern he lives with anyway; his kindness comes too late. “Just remember what you promised.”

And maybe Pete does understand pieces of what Brendon’s asking. Bring him home even if something stands in your way; bring him home even if it seems impossible.

Bring him home, against every odd.

Bring him home.

No matter what.

* * *

**patricktrohmanway**

 

> Shout-out to all my fellow multishippers hiding away during this troubling time. I swear, I can’t get online without someone shouting about Peterick this or Peterick that. Like??? Just bc those two are together (allegedly… we still don’t know the full story imo) doesn’t mean we have to suddenly stop our other fanfics and fanart. Pete or Patrick being in other relationships never stopped the Peterick shippers from shouting their headcanons from the rooftops— why do we need to stop just bc they want to dominate the fandom? The tantrums and ship wars are so childish.
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously, guys, ship what you want. Obviously, don’t talk to any actual band members about the ships (especially with Patrick missing) but don’t feel ashamed if you’re into something else. Heck, I love Peterick but I’m still gonna share my Andtrick and Joetrick stuff, too! It’s fine!!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> This is at all the antis, too. Like it or not, Pete said he and Patrick were in a relationship. Sending hate to shippers and flaming fanfics won’t change that. And this is coming from someone who can’t stand Peterick rip. Let people live their goddamn live, it’s not that hard
> 
>  
> 
> Basically, we’re all way too old for ship wars. And tbh who-ships-what should be the last of our problems. Let’s focus on finding Patrick and THEN we can get back to our petty arguments lmao. To quote FOB itself— I don’t care.
> 
>  
> 
> Love, your local Joetrick shipper (who is pretty damn tired of all the Petericks in my ask box. Sorry! Not deleting! Just letting you know that I’m sick of it)
> 
> _#fall out boy ship wars #patrick stump #pete wentz #peterick #wtf was pete thinking announcing that #hes turned fandom into a hell #first patrick goes missing… #now this… #kill me_

**323 notes**

* * *

 

 

  _January 18_

 

* * *

 

 **Chicago Breaking News** _@Chicago_Breaking_

BREAKING: Multiple national news stations contacted by self-proclaimed Patrick Stump kidnapper. Stay tuned for more information.

 

 **Chicago Breaking News** _@Chicago_Breaking_

BREAKING: Self-proclaimed celebrity kidnapper claims to be holding famed singer Patrick Stump hostage in an unknown location. The unknown man has made multiple demands for money and transportation out of the country. Follow for updates or check our site for the full story.

 

 **Chicago Breaking News** _@Chicago_Breaking_

UPDATE: Police have successfully identified the caller. Local squads have been dispatched to check out the area. We are expecting final reports before the end of the day.

 

 **Chicago Breaking News** _@Chicago_Breaking_

UPDATE: All claims and demands have been confirmed as false. The caller has been taken in for further questioning. Patrick Stump’s whereabouts are still unknown. Read our site for the full story of the Patrick Stump case, including today's events.

* * *

_“Patrick,” Pete calls out, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to reach Patrick. From the bedroom, Patrick calls back; Pete can’t hear his words but the mere sound of Patrick’s voice has him following, a puppet on Patrick’s string. “Come on, Trick. The guests will be here soon.”_

_He pauses in the bedroom doorway, frowning when he sees Patrick’s still not quite dressed. It’s New Year’s Eve and the first party the two are hosting together, despite their years of dating. Patrick hesitates with his back to Pete and his hands wrapped around the button up shirt he’s yet to put on; tightness rolls of him like stars falling into the night sky. Pete says nothing at first, watching as Patrick sighs and shoves his arms into his shirt, still refusing to turn and face him. For a moment, Pete wonders if it’s the old insecurities flaring up again, old wounds that were never quite treated the way they should have been; he still has regrets about the way he brushed aside Patrick’s declining self-esteem as drama when the band began their split. He knew something was off, could feel it in the way Patrick became someone who wasn’t really Patrick at all. A new personality to match his new sound and look— none of it could really hide the shriveling confidence inside._

_Patrick doesn’t like to talk about the hiatus, though. And Pete’s too uncomfortable to ever bring it up._

_“I know what you’re thinking— stop it,” he says, crossing the room with a shake of his head so he can properly comfort Patrick. A hand on Patrick’s shoulder, turning him and smiling at the shocked wide eyes— as if Patrick has no reason to believe Pete knows what in his head, as if he’s been caught. Pete laughs to himself at the idea, swatting Patrick’s hands away and doing the buttons up himself. “You look astonishing.”_

_Patrick rolls his eyes but lets Pete take control all the same, biting his lip when Pete’s knuckles caress his stomach as he reaches the bottom of the shirt. Pete smiles at Patrick’s sensitivity; he’s so obvious, so easy to read. When they first got together, Pete spent hours taking Patrick apart, learning and memorizing every touch he loves. He reacquainted himself with the touch of Patrick’s skin and went further, diving into things he didn’t allow himself to even dream of before. Taste and scent and every sensation in between… Pete fell in love with everything Patrick is._

_Of course, that’s not to say Patrick doesn’t have his secrets; all people do. Pete has a handful of his own, though Patrick probably knows more of him than he suspects. Some secrets, Pete passes to Patrick like greetings, sprinkling them into conversations and hoping they aren’t the grenades he feels they are._

_Patrick always defuses them before Pete has the chance to find out._

_“I don’t care about that,” he always says. “I just love you.”_

_Pete’s bottled away those exact words for whenever Patrick decides to share his own vulnerabilities— past the poor body image and other fears Pete already knows. Something rests beneath Patrick’s skin, secrets huddled away in hibernation each time they meet. It’s nothing bad— Pete knows Patrick’s not bad— but he is curious._

_It’s this curiosity that has him pausing, the last button still held gently between his fingers as he looks back at Patrick’s face._

_“Is there something wrong with my shirt?” Patrick asks, his voice as simple as the wind. It makes Pete smile but it doesn’t bring him to a response, too caught up in his sudden search of Patrick’s features— are their treasures in the depths of Patrick’s eyes? Is there an X to dig into on the corner of his lips? The possibilities are endless and Pete’s desperate to undo all his work, undo all these buttons, and spend another lifetime studying everything there is to know about Patrick. “Come on, didn’t you say the guests would be here soon? Do you really want them to see me all unbuttoned when they arrive?”_

_“It’s just one,” Pete says, shaken from his thoughts by Patrick’s teasing tone. He finishes up the shirt and then runs his hands down it, smoothing out wrinkles and creases with more care than he needs. Patrick laughs lightly, shaking beneath Pete’s touch, and he tugs at the top button of his shirt._

_“Oh, so if I undo just this one…” His smile is gold; his eyes are diamonds._

_Pete doesn’t need to search for anything. Not tonight._

_He gives into the teasing and rests his hand over Patrick’s, pulling on his collar until their lips meet. Pete marvels at the fact that he can do this, that he can kiss Patrick and know he’ll kiss back with just as much, if not more, fervor. When he pulls away, Patrick’s s looking at him like they weren’t halfway through._

_Pete presses a finger against Patrick’s pout, smiling as he does so._

_“We have a party to host first,” he says, pulling his finger across Patrick’s full bottom lip, “and then we have an entirely new year to call ours.”_

* * *

 

 

_January 20_

 

FLASH!

The sudden burst of light from beside his car rips Pete out from his daydream and straight back into the nightmare that is his current world. The paparazzo— or stalker or whatever the hell he is— takes another picture and then scurries a few feet down Pete’s driveway.

If Pete knew that this is what he’d be dealing with by stepping outside, he would have snuck out the back.

“Hey, Pete. You going somewhere, man?” The guy— a greasy looking man with a beard and ball cap— aims his camera at the pack slung over Pete’s shoulder and takes at least four pictures from the same angle. “Does this have to do with Patrick?”

Pete tenses, his grip on one of the straps tightening as he tries to ignore him and walk to his car. He tosses the bag in the back, swiping some empty pop cans and water bottles to the floor to make room.

Behind him, the man keeps taking pictures.

“We were wondering if you’ve heard about all the theories out there.” He’s looking for a reaction— it’s what they do. And Pete’s gotten better, he’s gotten used to it, like all celebs usually do.

At least, he was used to it when it was never about Patrick.

“I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” Keep your voice neutral, keep your eyes down. It’s like facing off against a predator only Pete’s certain he could take this guy if given the chance. “Hey, you wanna get off my property? I really don’t think—”

“Yeah, yeah, just a few questions.” And a few hundred photos, it seems, going by the rate he’s clicking that button. “Some people think Patrick ran away. What do you think about that?”

Going off of what Brendon told him? Probably more likely than even the police think. Still, Pete keeps silent and turns, determined to make it back inside his house without causing a scene.

Of course, this guy gets paid for the number of celebrity tantrums he can capture on film and he pulls Pete back with one more point.

“The most popular theory online is that you’re the one who killed him.” _Flash flash flash_ as Pete's blood cools, as Pete barely breathes.

“Excuse me?” Pete asks, turning around. Stupid, so stupid, but wasn’t it stupid when Joe made his slip up? Wasn’t it stupid when Patrick just disappeared? The entire fucking universe is made up of stupid so Pete’s allowed to have just this one mistake.

“Yeah, it makes sense with the whole gay star-crossed lover thing they’re painting.” _Flash, flash, fucking flash_. “And my money’s on the idea that you took your time. Enjoyed it. If you know what I mean.” He knows he’s got Pete like a fish writhing on a hook; his finger’s poised to take another picture and capture his prize.

But the flash never comes.

The sound of the camera crashing against the pavement sounds better than anything Pete’s heard all day as he tears it from the man’s hand and slams it to the ground. He knows there’ll be consequences and rumors, angry calls and money to pay.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have the time.

In fact, there’s only one thing he can think about now about now. There’s no use spending his emotions on anything else.

* * *

 

 **TMZ** _@TMZ_

.@PeteWentz lashes out after being accused of kidnapping and killing @PatrickStump! Watch the footage now on our page and let us know your thoughts! Where are you going, Pete? (Video) (via @Celebritea)

 

* * *

 

_Post-it notes and notecards._

_All that poetic musing, all that nonsensical fascination with Patrick’s skin and smile— all those pretty thoughts and his secrets were nothing more than post-it notes and notecards._

_Pete finds them stuffed under the bed, in a shoe box like the cliche Patrick tries so hard not to be. He’s looking for something else, a photo album he’d put together to celebrate the MANIA Era— filled with pictures Elliott sent over and a few printed off from fan accounts. It was Pete’s end-of-the-year gift to the band, a promise for the next era to be even bigger._

_But Pete’s hands had skimmed something else, a box that wasn’t there that morning when Pete had shoved the album away. The top was loose, if weakly duct-taped down, and Pete’s always been too curious for his own good._

_Inside was everything he never wanted to see._

_There are more than just the notes to condemn Patrick but they’re what Pete sees first. To-do lists with celebrities’ names fill the small papers; deadlines and passwords litter the pages in Patrick’s shaky handwriting. They don’t make sense when Pete first glances at them but, as he pulls out small journals and printed off emails, Pete begins to understand. He pieces it together like a puzzle, the oldest page dating back to the beginning of the year. This one’s just an email, just a question asking Patrick if he’s still available to work for some organization that won’t give their name._

_From there, things only get worse._

_Emails become demands and these demands are cruel. Find blackmail on this celebrity; pay us this amount. Do what we say or your life is ruined._

_Pete never sees any proof that Patrick responds to such requests but the journals and the little papers are evidence enough of what he does._

_Patrick’s a distracted man— it makes sense that he’d need little diaries to plan out how he’s going to bribe some A-lister into endorsing something she’s against. Of course, the man with no train of thought outside of music would have to scrawl out memos about how much he owes these people— The Culture, he calls them, though a few bitter-toned entries refer to them simply as The Cult._

_Of course he’d be naive enough to tuck away all his secrets in a box and hide it under the bed he shares with Pete._

_And, of course, at the bottom of the box, is the most recent correspondence._

_“Convince Peter to join us,” they wrote out. “He’d be valuable.”_

_And nothing else much matters._

_Pete doesn’t remember standing or tearing down the stairs like there’s a storm chasing after him. He doesn’t remember shoving guests aside, calling Patrick’s name. He doesn’t remember what he was thinking._

_But Patrick’s smile fading into pure horror, his face draining of any color… Pete remembers that like he made it up himself._

_“Convince Peter to join us?” He shoves the paper against Patrick’s chest, snarling the words and not caring for how Patrick stumbles back against the counter. “He’d be valuable? What the fuck is that? What the hell does this mean?”_

_“Pete…” And Patrick says Pete’s name like he has the right to sound so wounded, like he’s the one who’s been wronged for having his secrets revealed so soon. He’s still holding a glass of punch, the red drink dripping down the side like blood as his hand shakes. “We shouldn’t talk about this now. I’ll explain—”_

_“You’ll explain it right now,” Pete snaps. The paper falls to the floor but he barely notices, too caught up in the caged animal look in Patrick’s eyes. Does he mean that? Is he pretending? The thought makes him sick. “I saw all of it. All the papers and journals and… What the hell have you been doing? Blackmailing people? Joining some fucking Illuminati wannabe club? And you want to explain that later?”_

_“Yes,” Patrick says it through his teeth, the word a whistle of breath. It doesn’t change the fact that everyone’s watching; it doesn’t change the fact that Pete’s already thinking of those entries he read. “You don’t understand. They’re just people I work for. I don’t believe in what they’re doing but—”_

_“Are you dating me because they told you to?” The words are bile, acid thrown into the air and burning Pete as he speaks. “Because they want me in this fucking thing you’re doing?”_

_Patrick, at least, looks stunned by the very suggestion. “Is that what you think? Do you really think I’d do something like that?”_

_“Well, clearly, you have no problem with dirty work so I really can’t answer that right now.”_

_Patrick’s journals detail things that would make any celebrity sick, adventures of taking compromising pictures or finding out dark secrets. He’s the creature every star’s scared of, the monster who could topple anyone’s career. Pete can’t reconcile Patrick with that image but the longer he stares, the more he sees._

_That glint in Patrick’s eye, screaming like he’s hurt. That stern set of his mouth, tugged tight across his face as he stares Pete down._

_That voice of his, so certain that Pete has to understand._

_“You weren’t supposed to see that but I was going to tell you. Eventually.”_

_It sounds like a lie and Pete doesn’t quite know how he feels about that._

_“I tell you everything.” Pete’s voice is shaking now, shaking like all of his core beliefs. Everyone talks about the foundations of a person’s mind, the truths their lives revolve around. As Pete realizes Patrick might not be the perfect boy he expected, the rest of his world comes crumbling down with it. “How much of my secrets have you shared with your friends?”_

_“They’re not my friends.” Patrick chokes out the words, his face red as he looks anywhere but at Pete. “Fuck, if you tried to understand… If you thought about the situation for a second longer than just rushing in with assumptions and believing the worst—”_

_“I never believe the worst about you,” Pete snaps. “But maybe I should have.”_

_Patrick’s a stranger when he slams his glass down on the counter behind him, punch splashing over and staining the sleeve of his shirt. He’s a stranger when he glares at Pete like he hates him; he’s a stranger when Pete lets him walk away._

_At the last second, before opening the door and storming out, Patrick turns._

_“You should feel lucky that they only wanted me to ask you,” he says. He’s blinking fast, his breaths and voice trembling as he shouts. “If you think I wanted any of this, then maybe you just don’t know me as well you like to pretend. Maybe you don’t know me, at all.”_

_It shouldn’t sting but it does; it shouldn’t sear into Pete’s soul like the worst form of damnation._

_But when Patrick leaves, Pete’s left with the feeling that everything has suddenly gotten so much worse._

 

* * *

 

 

_January 21_

 

TWITTER SEARCH: #MissMissingPatrick - Top Tweets

 

 **Gem** _@officialfobfan_

are we all BLIND? look at the facts about the #missmissingpatrick case!! fobs not well known enough to get patrick kidnapped! patrick has to be safe i am 100% sure of it! i just hope he knows we love him and cant wait for him to come back!! spread this!!

 

 **Becca #FOBQueen** _@bandomofpower_

Anyone else think they’re holding back info on the case? My idea’s that it’d be better if the band gave us info so we (and the rest of the world) could actually help. Instead, they’re all hush. Makes it seem like someone with authority might be behind it… #missmissingpatrick

 

 **#MissMissingPatrick** _@tinysingerboy_

I really hate the stuff saying Pete’s behind the #missmissingpatrick thing but the thought of someone close taking him actually makes sense? Did Patrick ever have any crazy ex-lovers @petewentz @falloutboy ???

 

 **Sara** _@_sarahsmiles__

Guys! Check out the #MissMissingPatrick tumblr’s latest post! Someone submitted a really intricate theory that kinda proves that Patrick’s safe! Unfortunately, they still think he was kidnapped but at least there’s hope that they’re aren’t hurting him and that he’s alive

 

 **AJ** _@trollface_emoji_

#MiSsMiSsInGpAtRiCk maybe now that his boyfriends been murdered @petewentz will finally start writing some good lyrics again LMFAO #factsonly #onlycrybabiesblock #idareyoutoreportme

 

* * *

 

#  **Fandom unites to show love and support for missing singer**

By **Maria Larson** \- January 21 2019

 

CHICAGO — Members of the Fall Out Boy fandom will be hosting candlelight vigils across the world on January 26 to prove their enduring love and support for their missing singer, Patrick Stump.

 

The original plan was created by fans Janice Williams and Benjamin Smith, both aged 26, in the singer’s home city of Chicago.

 

Smith and Williams have been fans of Fall Out Boy since the release of the band’s sophomore album, _From Under the Cork Tree,_ in 2005 _._ The two fell in love with the band and have spent most of their lives following the band on tour and supporting all their releases, Smith said.

 

When it was announced that Stump was officially missing, the pair set to work figuring out how they could best show their support.

 

“Obviously we couldn’t go searching without interfering with the actual police business,” Williams said. “But our goal was never to investigate, anyway. What we really want is to remind people— be it the band or anyone else— that Patrick is loved and missed by so many.”

 

After considering a number of fan projects and ideas submitted by friends and other fans, Smith and Williams agreed on a vigil. The pair posted about the idea on their twitter and began speaking with the whole fandom to make this plan happen.

 

“We knew pretty much right away that the hub of it needed to be Chicago,” Williams said. “And everyone else agreed.”

 

After some discussion with the city and other authorities, Williams and Smith sent out an announcement that Wrigley Field has agreed to host the main vigil.

 

Smith said they chose this to honor one of the band’s greatest achievements. In September 2018, the band headlined Wrigley as part of their MANIA Tour. According to accounts online, many fans flew out from around the world to take part in this milestone for their favorite band.

 

Now, the venue will see another momentous occasion— the honoring of the singer’s disappearance.

 

“We expect a lot of fans to do the same thing they did last time— fly out to show some love for Patrick,” Smith said. “But it’s important to note that there are going to be a lot of other vigils going on at the same time, too. We’ve gotten a ton of messages from fans who won’t be able to make it and are planning their own vigils in their town. It’s going to just be a night of love for Patrick everywhere.”

 

In the Wrigley event, the night will feature a candlelight vigil, acoustic performances by local tribute bands and a variety of speakers. A collection of Stump’s friends, such as Brendon Urie and Gabriel Saporta, have announced their intent to attend.

 

“I’d say we’re lucky that this small thing has gotten so big but that wouldn’t be fair,” Smith said. “It’s to be expected. People love Patrick and this is just going to emphasize that.”

  
Information about the Wrigley vigil and local vigils, as well as info about registering your own, can be found on Smith and William’s blog,  _PatrickStumpVigils.wordpress.com_ . 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Press Release**

Studio City, California

Los Angeles Police Department

Michael Moore - Chief of Police

 

 

January 22, 2019

7:30 AM- For Immediate Release

 

On January 21, 2019, the Los Angeles Police Department completed their search of the residence of Patrick M. Stumph.

 

The investigation was initiated at the beginning of January 2019 after the Los Angeles Police Department received tips from concerned citizens, reporting 34-year-old Patrick Stumph as missing from his home and neighborhood. Further investigation led to the belief that Stumph has been missing since January 1, 2019.

 

Upon receiving the proper warrant to search the property, LAPD officers thoroughly investigated Stumph’s home and vehicles for approximately two weeks. The search led to the discovery of at least eighteen handwritten notes dating from January 1, 2018 to December 24, 2018. The notes reference an unnamed group and Stumph’s insistence that there is something he “must do before it’s too late.”

 

Analysis of the notes and their tone support theories that Stumph was not taken but has left willingly.

 

This investigation is ongoing. Anyone with information regarding this case can remain anonymous and is encouraged to contact the Los Angeles Police Department tip hotline or Detective Eric Graham with the North Hollywood Community Police Department.

* * *

 

#  **Celebrities speak out against missing singer Patrick Stump**

By **Luke Matthews** \- January 22, 2019

 

If one’s supposed to respect the missing, then a handful of Hollywood stars missed the memo.

 

Actresses Candice Jones and Rhiannon White have recently taken to their Twitters to speak out against the missing Fall Out Boy singer, Patrick Stump.

 

In their  tweets  , Jones and White referenced the  press release  posted by the Los Angeles Police Department earlier this morning. Specifically, they focused on the notes said to be found in Stump’s home.

 

“(Stump) doesn’t need to write out the name for me to know who he’s talking about,” Jones wrote in her thread. “Fans need to be aware of what they’re supporting when they look at this man. He’s worked with and for people who have the ability to tank my career, as well as many others. And he’s the one giving them the power to do that.”

 

The tweets picked up popularity within moments, people from both fandom’s hurrying to defend their respective “faves.”

 

White’s thread, posted an hour after Jones', was even more scathing, saying Stump brought this disappearance on himself and that she’d be happy if he never… **(** **Read More** **)**

* * *

 

 

_January 23_

**Kaity** _@destinysdaughter_

@RecordingAcad How in the world is Fall Out Boy still nominated for a Grammy?? I swear that this whole missing person case is going to fuck up all of the results.

**Kaity** _@destinysdaughter_

Lol I’m not saying they faked the disappearance or they don’t deserve it— I’m just saying that it’s going to unfairly affect how things turn out. And going by my retweet/like numbers, others agree #butthatsnoneofmybusiness

 

* * *

 

 

_January 24_

 

 _From:_ Unknown Number

 _To:_ Pete Wentz

 _Texts Received:_ Wednesday, Jan 23, 2:17 AM

 

> I saw the news. I’m sorry.
> 
> We have the worst luck.
> 
> That’s probably my fault.
> 
> I’ll probably explain it all to you someday.
> 
> But, first, I want to make sure you don’t have to worry anymore.
> 
> I’ll take care of everything.
> 
> Even this.
> 
> I promise.
> 
> I love you

 

 _From:_ Pete Wentz

 _To:_ Unknown Number

 _Texts Sent:_ Wednesday, Jan 23, 4:40 AM

 

> What?
> 
> How did you get my number? Who is this?
> 
> ??
> 
> Who are you?
> 
> …
> 
> Okay
> 
> Where are you
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

_January 24_

 

**suchahappymess**

 

> Now that all the shippers and antis have hidden away for the day (I hope)…
> 
>  
> 
> Here’s another go at an appreciation post for Pete Wentz!! He’s been quiet recently (understandably so) but I still really hope he’s doing well. He’s so important to all of us and I just want him to know that.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, of course, I really extra hope he gets Patrick home safe again. I’d wish for Patrick to be safe no matter what but it’s extra heartbreaking to know that he’s got someone like Pete waiting for him :( I don’t ship Peterick the way most people do (with,,,, like,,, the fics and stuff) but I can definitely support this relationship and hope for the two to see each other again soon <3
> 
> _#my post #pete wentz better see his boy #this entire situation is making me so sad #especially the peterick part #not bc i dont ship it #but bc they both deserve better than what the world is giving them right now_

**927 notes**

 

* * *

 

**folieahipster**

 

> Tbh I’m pretty sick of how gullible some people are. Patrick Stump is the KINDEST person you will ever meet and these actresses are clearly just trying to take advantage of the situation to help their own failing careers. Yes, Patrick’s notes are weird but, seriously, it’s not like they found a fucking body in his house. Keep in mind, the celebs “calling Patrick out” are the same people who get cancelled on twitter every other week ffs. Of course they’d go after someone as unproblematic as Patrick to try to make themselves look better. So for everyone blindly believing their shit? Do some fucking research for once in your lives, k? Or at least get some better edits bc the fucking photoshopped shit isn’t cutting it.
> 
> Before I go, remember that Patrick isn’t around to defend himself and the laws literally say people are innocent until proven guilty. Do you really think it’s fair to attack someone who could be hurt or worse??? You’re the worst kind of people.
> 
> Update: I’m blocking everyone who tries to drag Patrick on this post. Not in my fucking house, bitches. Not today.
> 
> Update: To anyone sending me the stupid anon messages about the rumors and lies, I hope you know that I can still track your IP!!! Have fun messaging me without your mask, sweetie!! I hope you’re crying bc I will report your ass.
> 
> _#missmissingpatrick #patrick stump #rumors #i hate each and every one of you assholes who keep trying to make Patrick look bad during this #you can all fucking rot #patrick doesnt deserve this_

**2,318 notes**

* * *

**peterwentzthesecond**

 

> **truth-and-dare**
> 
> Idek this fall out boy guy but I think it’s pretty fucked that his fans are blatantly ignoring the accusations of blackmail and lowkey stalking being thrown his way??? Like??? The rumors about him missing turned out to be true, why not the ones about him being a total creep lmao? Nothing’s worse than a fandom who puts their idols on a pedestal tbh

Please tag your Patrick hate. I am legally obligated to shoot you the next time I see this.

_#imagine being this fucking stupid lol #patrick stump hate #patrick hate #we arent paying attention to those rumors bc theyre obviously fake dipshit #dont be such an asshole_

**4,460 notes**

* * *

 

_January 25_

The phone is cold in Pete’s hand, his fingers stiff from holding on too tightly. Ever since those messages, those texts he was a second too late to see come in, he’s been scared to let go.

Not that it matters. He never got a response back and calling goes straight to voicemail— robotic and generic. Still, Pete has the number memorized— just in case he goes crazy and decides to try again.

This time, at least, it’s not that black hole he’s trying to reach when he turns the phone on and punches in a number. He puts it on speaker, letting the rings fill his car as he looks out at his driveway, paranoid that another psycho with a camera’s going to pop out.

“Pete?” Brendon’s voice is static, crackling with confusion and distance. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Pete says.

Brendon huffs and, through the phone, Pete listens as sheets are shoved aside and Brendon forces himself awake for the day. It’s not like it’s that early, Pete thinks; at least he waited until after watching the sunrise to call.

“I would have thought you’d left by now,” Brendon says around a yawn. “Your grand mission to save Patrick. Or whatever.”

“It’s not like I could race off into the unknown, you know. I had to do some planning,” Pete says. He scratches his thumb along the side of his phone, the rumbling against his nail distracting him from the emptiness echoing around him as he considers how wrong it is that Patrick’s not sitting beside him. “That means I need to ask you a few things.”

Whatever Brendon’s doing— taking a piss, brushing his teeth, pacing his room— Pete hears him pause. “I thought you already—”

“ _Please_ , Brendon.” Pete doesn’t like begging but he also doesn’t like thinking of the last time he saw Patrick, doesn’t like wondering if that fight will be the last thing they share.

Brendon sighs; Pete relaxes.

“I can’t promise I can answer everything,” Brendon says. Pete gazes out the window, eyes lost in the grey-blue haze decorating the morning sky.

“Good enough.” He shuts his eyes but opens them again when the first thing he sees is Patrick in his mind. “You told me to bring him back no matter what. What does that mean?”

“I mean, it’s a rather obvious statement, isn’t it? I thought we already—”

“Will he want to come back with me?”

Another pause, another reason for Pete to hold his breath and expect the worst.

“Yes, of course.”

Pete groans, tossing his head to the side and hating the abandoned state of the passenger seat. Patrick’s always sitting there, seat belt tucked tight around his middle because he never got the hang of driving. Pete drives him everywhere, grumbling and pretending to hate it but falling for it when Patrick brings up the fact that he went straight from high school to tour.

 _“My driving practice was a van that was already halfway broken_ ,” he’d say _. “You owe me for that_.”

And Pete gives in. Every time.

He shuts his eyes. Anything is better than this.

“Then what does it mean? What else can it mean? Will he be safe? Alright? Fuck, will he even be alive?” Pete’s voice breaks on the last word. Neither of them mentions it.

“I don’t know, okay?” Brendon’s pleading for forgiveness in those four words and Pete doesn’t have the strength to keep it from him.

“Fine.” It’s a choked sound but it does its job, clearing his throat and making room for the next demand. “Do you really think I should go? I’m not being crazy? I actually have a chance at finding him on my own?”

“I don’t think you’d be asking if you weren’t sure.” It’s not a clear answer but Pete takes it anyway, tucking the permission into his back pocket and letting the weight ground him.

“I need to know where to go then,” he says. His eyes are still shut; his chest is still hollow and caving in every time he remembers Patrick’s parting words. Does he really think Pete doesn’t know him? Does he really think that Pete’s understanding of him is just pretend? It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

“And you think I know that?” Brendon sounds truly baffled and Pete can’t stand the implication. “Don’t you think I would have told someone by now if I did?”

“I think you got him into some shit during the hiatus and now you’re trying to cover for it.” Pete doesn’t mean to snap at him but he’s already so tired, so lost, so angry at everything and everyone.

Brendon’s sharp intake of breath doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Well, then, I guess you know everything. Don’t know why you need me or—” Brendon’s snappy too, hurt and unafraid to show it.

Pete deserves every sting in his chest. He’ll take each blow if it will bring Patrick back.

“I’m sorry.” He should say more; he needs to say more.

He doesn’t.

Brendon sighs again, heavy and dramatic. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“I don’t know.” Pete pauses but not for long; if he’s too still, he’s afraid he’ll fall asleep and the cycle will start over again. Waking up, wanting to apologize to Patrick and hear his explanation…

Wandering over to a house with no one inside.

“Pete, you need to take of yourself. I can come over if you need but—”

“I think he texted me. A few nights ago.” Pete’s breaths tremble the way they did when he read those messages, denying it could ever be what it really was. “Why would he do that? Just apologize and disappear again? Does he think I’m upset? Does he think I hate him?”

“I don’t know what he’s thinking. None of us do— that’s the point.” It makes no sense but Pete nods anyway, eyes opening with a tired drag.

“So you really don’t know where he is.” A statement, a fading hope. Brendon’s silent a second too long and that very same hope peers out with a steady gaze. “Brendon, I swear to god… If you know and you’re not telling me…”

“He texted you, Pete, isn’t that enough?” Brendon asks. “Do you really need to go searching for him, too?”

“ _Yes_. Is that even a fucking question? Look, if you don’t tell me, it’s not going to stop me looking; it’s just going to waste my time. My only other option is having the police track the number and we both know that’s as good as doing nothing.” Pete takes a breath, his grip on the phone tightening. “So what’s it going to be?”

“He told me to keep you safe,” Brendon says. Pete’s heart skips every beat and he swears he goes straight to dead as Brendon’s tone finally gives in. “I’ll text you an address.”

* * *

 

 

 **erin misses patrick stump** _@a_dying_breed_

#MissMissingPatrick THEORY THREAD (not mine !!! It’s from the tumblr !!!): Basically, Patrick got involved in some celeb cult a few years back and that’s why he’s missing now.

**erin misses patrick stump** _@a_dying_breed_

He probs joined during the hiatus, when he was depressed and needed help. The cult did a favor for him (?) and now he owes them. That’s why people are claiming he’s done messed up stuff— they’re making him pay them back somehow

**erin misses patrick stump** _@a_dying_breed_

HERES WHERE THE DISAPPEARANCE AND MISSING SHIT COMES IN. He and Pete got in a fight right? Pete noticed the cult activity and tried to get him to stop. Obvs the cult wouldnt want Pete getting in his head so they kidnapped him before that could happen

**erin misses patrick stump** _@a_dying_breed_

Then it gets a little sad bc it’s been basically a month so either Patrick decided to join them for good (and give up his normal life) OR they’re too scared to let him go now that the cult’s been exposed. So they’re either keeping him captive or want to kill him…

**erin misses patrick stump** _@a_dying_breed_

Wait, do you think that talking about the cult make it more or less likely for them to hurt him?????? Should I delete these?????

* * *

 

**yeseventhis**

 

> **petesstreetstyle**
> 
> I know no one’s gonna believe me but I swear I just saw Pete at this gas station not too far from my house??? Which is crazy bc I know for a fact I don’t live anywhere near him and all sources say he’s been staying home since the Patrick thing started. And it was kinda early in the morning which is weird, right? I didn’t bother him or take any pics since he seemed to be in a hurry (and also, obviously, because that would just be rude) but I swear it on my copy of Soul Punk.
> 
>  
> 
> I will say that he didn’t seem as broken as I’d expect, given the circumstances. If anything, he seemed… determined? Idk, it was a little interesting to see him seeing as the only stuff we’ve gotten have been the super invasive paparazzi stuff.
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t believe for a second that he had anything to do with Patrick’s disappearance but, honestly!? I wouldn’t doubt it for a second that he’d be part of his rescue!

A lot of ppl have replied to you calling this post stupid or saying that the officials are already working on it. I’m just going to add something else, okay?

 

The “officials” have no fucking idea what’s going on. But that doesn’t make this a rescue.

 

~~If you knew what the bluebirds sang at you, you would never sing along~~

_#cast them out #bc this is OUR culture #and these new flocks wont stand in the way anymore_

  


**12,355 notes**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!!! Leave comments and thoughts and stuff!!! And, again, thank you to everyone who did that on the last chapter :) You make the hours of formatting worth it!
> 
> Now, gotta post this before something terrible happens and I lose all the work I just did haha rip


	3. January 26 - February 3 (You're Gonna Regret)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware of fan confessions, cry-typing, and Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Wednesday somewhere!!! Please don't fight me!!!
> 
> Classes just started this week so I'm still trying to figure out my schedule. It shouldn't have too much of an effect on my work, though, so stick around!
> 
> Again, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to comment-- you mean the absolute world to me. 
> 
> Also-- how on earth did I ever manage two chapters a week when I was writing Until We Die?? Who even was that?? Has my life fallen apart that much in the few years between these fics?? Yikes
> 
> <>
> 
> Playlist (let me know if you ever listen to a playlist song, I'm genuinely curious):  
> \- I Lied by Electric Century  
> \- Cracked Skulls by The Megas  
> \- Getting Stronger by Michelle Creber, Gabriel Brown, Baasik  
> \- Alone Together by Fall Out Boy
> 
> <>
> 
> On with the fic!!!

_January 26_

 

In the distance before them, the sun dazzles the horizon with a sweeping gaze of orange and red streams stretching up into the grey-blue sheet above, welcoming day with a yawn of light.

Behind them, the smoke and sparks of fading flames struggle to regain their own control of the sky. Already, the fire has outshined the moon; it struggles to do the same with the sun.

In the middle of both, hands pressed to his knees as he begs for breath, Patrick pauses. The stranger beside him stops as well, wiping back sweaty brown bangs as he stares.

“All good?” He asks like he’s half-afraid Patrick will drop over dead any moment. He’s young, around the age Patrick was when Fall Out Boy first started to feel like something real, and Patrick’s chest has already clenched a thousand times at the comparison. The kid introduced himself as Sammy but hadn’t said much else. It’s fine, though, Patrick doesn’t need his life story to guess at why he was hiding out with a club that promises fame and fortune.

“All good.” Patrick returns Sammy’s uncertainty with a shaking smile, breaths heaving in and out of his lungs like weights. He moves to wipe sweat from his brow but thinks better of it at the last second. The cut across his forehead had just closed up a few moments ago; best not to tempt fate by opening it again. He presses his fingers lightly to the wound instead, wincing at the sharp sting bouncing through his skull at the minor action. He doesn’t remember what Grey or Blue hit him with after finding the messages he’d been sending out from the phone they’d left— a way to test his loyalties, a test he failed— but it was enough to leave some of the less desirable signs of a concussion. The blow had left him unconscious for no more than a few minutes and the struggling he’d been attempting before the hit had been reduced to dizzy stumbles and nauseated gags.

_ “We’ll have to take you to our boss _ ,” Grey had snarled, an iron grip around Patrick’s arm as he dragged him through the emptied hallways. Too late, Patrick had realized the entire building was a sham, a headquarters, a prison. “ _ And you’ll be dead or wish you were by the end of the day _ .”

Patrick knew this. He understood this and, feet dragging across the carpets, he whimpered and gave in. There’s no right way to escape The Culture.

So it had been a surprise when Sammy appeared from around the corner, a match burning in his hand. He’s shorter than Patrick but his determination at that moment was stronger. Blue’s face turned red at the sight of the younger boy— a boy Patrick had only seen as an “apprentice” of sorts on his missions. 

And then, eyes bright and hands shaking, Sammy dropped the match to the floor. Grey and Blue staggered away from the flames; Sammy raced forward, grabbed Patrick’s hand and forced him to follow until the hotel was burning behind them.

“Are you sure? There’s, uh, there’s some bad bruising and…” Sammy trails off, his nervous tone pulling Patrick away from his thoughts with a shudder. He looks up just as Sammy’s gesturing to his own forehead, supposedly tracing out the areas where Patrick’s most bruised. “It looks bad.”

It always looks bad; Patrick knows from experience that it can also look worse. He shrugs, standing straight and shutting his eyes. Sammy huffs loudly and Patrick has to smile, cracking his eyes open once more to look at his savior. Sammy’s either upset or afraid, hands twitching at his side and his frown sharp enough to cut another hole in The Culture’s plan. 

“What?” He asks upon noticing Patrick’s stare. “Don’t look at me like that— like you’re already planning to adopt me or some shit. I’ve got a family, you know. That’s why… That’s why I—”

Why he joined some evil organization? Or is it why he burnt it down on his way out?

Sammy crosses his arms and his averted gaze tells Patrick it’s a bit of both.

“Whatever your reasons, thanks for helping back there,” Patrick says, gently stepping forward. He hesitates, looking towards the road in the distance and the city it leads to. It’s too early for anyone but irritated commuters to be racing down the streets and they’re far enough anyway too really be seen— blurred figures in the rising light.

Of course, Patrick’s more than a bit reassured by the fire blazing blocks away. Any authorities who may be looking for him will have their hands full with that mystery— hopefully long enough to buy him time.

Sammy shrugs, eyes shifting across the horizon as it paints the city with daylight. Patrick follows his gaze, drowsiness nudging his mind but never following through. 

“So, Sammy,” Patrick says as a means to distract himself from the dull throbbing pain in his head, “do you know what your plan is from here?”

Patrick doesn’t miss the way Sammy’s shoulders release their tension, the way his next breath is steadier from the last. “Home. I’m going home. I’m not important enough to chase after and my family’s moving soon, anyway. So I need to get back to them and forget any of this happened.”

Forget. It’s a nice idea— a nice dream to have— but Patrick doesn’t waste his energy pretending he has the same choice. 

“That’s good,” he says after a moment. “And you have a way to reach them or get to them or…?”

“Like I’m stupid enough to break free from that hell without a plan,” Sammy says in lieu of a more serious answer. He scoffs but his eyes are softer when he looks back at Patrick. “I assume you’ll do the same?”

Silence. Patrick looks away, looks at the road, looks at the fire and all that’s been left behind. 

“Wait, so I dragged you out for nothing?” Sammy asks, his voice becoming the edge of a blade. “I risked my life with that fire just so you could go back to some assholes with a god complex? What do they even—”

“I’m not going back,” Patrick says, eyes narrowing as he turns back to Sammy’s offended face. The sun burns bright behind him, glaring openly into the world rather than peeking in as it had before. “Why do you think they were upset with me? It wasn’t because I swore undying loyalty.”

“So, then, you are leaving them. You’re going home, too? Right?”

“No.” Patrick sounds more certain than he knows he is and it’s hearing his own voice, his own determination, that has him peering curiously at the plan forming in the back of his aching mind. “Not yet.”

“Then what  _ are  _ you doing?” Sammy asks, hands clenching into fists at his side. Patrick doesn’t blame him, could never blame him; paranoia and fear are part of the job description and they’re not so easy to return. 

“I don’t know,” Patrick answers honestly. “I just know that I can’t go back yet. People will have questions and I’m not ready to give them answers. I’ll stick around, hide, until I can figure something to say. Besides, it’ll be better to wait The Culture out. Knowing them, they’ve already set up searches around my house.”

“Searches?” Sammy asks, suddenly leaning forward with prompt alertness. “They do that?”

Patrick begins to nod but then shakes his head, settling on an uneasy shrug as his headache only grows worse.

“I don’t, um, well… For some people they do. But I wouldn’t worry if you, like, um, weren’t too big in their plans?” Patrick tries explaining, each word bouncing against his throat with another wave of queasiness. “And, I mean, I’m not trying to call you insignificant or anything— that’s not what I mean— but I’ve been with them for years so their hooks are in deeper, I guess. And that makes me walking away harder on both sides. Does that make sense?”

“I, yeah. I guess,” Sammy says, his own voice relaxing down into the faint concern it carried before. He shoves his hands deep into his thin denim jacket, glowering in the direction of the sun. “So then where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” The words should be defeat, shards of glass shattered further by realization and loss, but Patrick smiles around them and they don’t cut the way they should. “Like I said— I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home.”

Sammy’s eyebrows furrow together, his involuntary smile the only sign that he understands. Warmth, brighter and better than the sun beaming across the land, fills Patrick’s chest and they begin to walk again. Towards the city for Sammy; away from The Culture for Patrick.

“Hey, so, I was wondering,” Sammy says, his voice soft as they continue their trek, “do I have to tell my family? When I get back? About spying and controlling people? And will they hate me when they know?”

Patrick pauses for just a moment, looking towards the now blue sky as if the question he’s been asking himself will finally reveal an answer. 

“If you’re asking, I think you already know that you want— or need— to tell them,” he says slowly, fidgeting and stumbling over his own thoughts. “But I can’t tell you how to feel about it. I don’t know your family and I don’t know what story you’re preparing to tell them.”

“It’d be easier if they forced me. The… The cult, or whatever,” Sammy says, looking down as he walks. “If they were the ones responsible for what I did or if they were as obviously evil as I know they can be.”

“You don’t have to—”

“But I do! If I don’t even understand why I did those things, how can I ever hope for anyone else to? Saying that I needed the money or promise of some grand future sounds good when I’m not thinking of the price of those things.” Sammy huffs out a breath, picking at his nails as if this can hide the shaking of his hands. “But then I do think of the things I did and I wonder if maybe The Culture was just an excuse for me to do them— if I would have done them anyway. Maybe I was always one step away from being some creep or a criminal. Maybe—”

“Maybe we all are.”

“But your story’s different,” Sammy says, suddenly jerking his head to stare at Patrick with such an open expression that Patrick’s certain he can see the thrumming of blood beneath his skin. It’s like the looks Patrick will see sometimes on the street, kids who think he saved their life or fans who can’t believe he’s real. He looks away but Sammy’s tone carries the same awe. “You never asked for money or anything like that, right? You just… You just wanted…”

“What I wanted doesn’t matter,” Patrick says. “I did things worse than you. Don’t make me into something I’m not.”

“What? A celebrity? Someone loved by so many people that fans are flying out to light candles in your honor tonight? People  _ love  _ you and they will continue to love you no matter what,” Sammy says, impassioned and sincere. “It doesn’t matter what you do because people already believe they know who you are. That doesn’t have to a bad thing. You could use that to your advantage or sit back and watch them create defenses without you needing to lift a finger. I may not be your biggest fan but I know enough to know that there are followers who will do anything for you. It doesn’t matter what The Culture does or what they make you do— it won’t change the way people already feel.”

Patrick’s stomach turns in a way that has nothing to do with concussions or fear. He wishes he could stop, close his eyes, pretend Sammy never said a word of his little speech. Because Sammy’s right on so many levels— fans love him, fans adore him.

But Sammy forgot that fans aren’t the only people Patrick can disappoint.

“You don’t know the things I’ve done,” he says. “Even without The Culture… There are no perfect people, Sammy. Even if the fans don’t believe it, I’ll know the truth. And that’s more than enough guilt.”

“Isn’t guilt a sign that you’re good? You know enough to feel bad for… Well, for whatever you’ve done.”

Patrick allows himself a smile, bitter and wry. “Then I guess guilt’s a paradox. It might make me a good person if I feel it but only a bad person would do something worth feeling guilty about. Nice.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean,” Sammy says, rolling his eyes. So young, Patrick remembers— far too young for any of this. “As far as I know, you’re decent, okay? You were worth saving, at least.”

“And I do thank you for that,” Patrick says, breathing freely now that the conversation’s moved past guilt and crimes. The city beckons them with glistening lights, a false reflection of the fire’s growing flames. “Even if I do disagree with your methods.”

“What, the fire?” Sammy asks, casting a withering gaze behind him. “Can’t you just pretend it’s some grand start to your vigil day?”

“Oh, is that what it is?” Patrick asks, a sardonic smile twisting his lips as he laughs lightly. “And here I thought it was your attempt to actually harm The Culture.”

“Don’t tell me you’re too heartbroken over that,” Sammy says with a mischievous smile of his own. “They were blackmailing you, after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

# Recording Acadamy confirms the validity of Fall Out Boy’s Grammy nomination

By  **Rachel Red -** January 26, 2019

With cities full of lights and candles for the band’s missing singer, Fall Out Boy has received another form of positivity. After a round of vicious questioning from online sources, the Recording Academy has announced that Fall Out Boy’s Grammy nomination is still valid. Despite pushback from critics and listeners alike, the Academy hopes to see Fall Out Boy at the event. According to sources, they are hoping the full band will be able to attend the night’s…  **( Read More)**

* * *

 

 

_January 27_

**i-have-patricks-hand**

> **shameless-peterick-writer**
> 
> HOLY FUCKING SHIT HOLY FUCKING SHIT GUYS GUYS I NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHO YOU THINK THIS LOOKS LIKE OKAY MY COUSIN WORKS AT THIS SMALL CLOTHES STORE IN LA AND THIS GUY CAME IN AND JUST BOUGHT SOME THINGS??? LIKE??? SHE SAID SHE WAS WORRIED AT FIRST BC HE KEPT HIS HAT DOWN REALLLLYYYY LOW AND PAID IN ALL CASH AND WOULDNT REALLY TALK AND SHE WANTED TO TAKE A PIC IN CASE HE WAS A CRIMINAL SO SHE GOT THIS WHILE HE WAS COUNTING OUT CHANGE. BUT THEN SHE LOOKED CLOSER AND SENT IT TO ME AND NOW IM FREAKING OUT AND CRYIGN BC THATS OUR BOY RIGHT? THATS OUR GODDAMN BOY OH MY GOD HES OKAY I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I CANT BELIEVE THIS
> 
>   
> 

UMMMMMM where tf does your cousin live??? Did she say anything else about the guy??? Are there security cams that can get a better pic???  _ Did she go to the police with this???? _

I’m highkey freaking out right now. Shaking and screaming and seriously please keep us updated!!!!!

_ #missmissingpatrick #!!!!!! #I CANT BELIEVE HE MIGHT BE BACK #OH MY GOD #PATRICK BBY #WE MISSED YOU SO MUCH _

**1,505 notes**

 

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#  **Weekly Trash:** **The Oh-So-Evil side of Patrick Stump**

####   **Podcast By** : Ricky Lyons — January 27, 2019

 

_ Transcript: _

 

Hello, listeners, and welcome back to the Weekly Trash! Your favorite place for hot rumors, hot topics, and all of the world’s hottest messes. 

 

There’s a lot of trash to get through today—  _ Yikes!—  _ but I’ve seen enough comments to know what you’re all really buzzing about: Patrick Stump. I won’t go too deep into details about who he is or what he does but, recently, this singer has become popular for an entirely new reason— going missing.

 

Now, Patrick’s been missing for, apparently, a month. At least, that’s what I saw last I checked the news and, Christ, is the news on this guy! You can’t pick up a tabloid without hearing the latest about this case. I mean, yeah, okay, I get it. He’s gone missing and it’s scary and it’s sad and, hey, I’m not here to pretend there’s anything okay about that. I— I wanna get this out of the way now because I know how the rest of this is gonna sound but I do genuinely wish the guy the best and hope the proper authorities have all the luck in bringing him back home safe.

 

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s jump into one of the more recent developments in the Patrick case— the accusations being thrown out against him. Now, I don’t know how closely you guys are following it but, supposedly, the police posted about these creepy notes they found in his home. And a few other celebs— actresses and the like— started… Well, they basically started tearing the guy apart online. It started when a few actresses mentioned something about Patrick being part of some dangerous group. The original statements even went so far to say that Patrick himself did some pretty shady shit. Things like blackmail and coercion. It didn’t really take too long before a handful of other celebrities started claiming the same. Now, I am referring to these as accusations because, of course, Patrick isn’t here to defend himself and the actual police haven’t released any information on how true this can be. Like I said, I don’t know the guy but, from what I’ve seen in my brief research, he seems… decent? Polite, at least. Very down-to-earth and humble. And, before these accusations, I didn't see much of anyone saying shit about him at all.

 

That being said… Time for some shout-out opportunities! We obviously don’t know the facts about this psycho Patrick theory but you have to admit that it’s, well, it’s pretty damn fun to imagine. Like, some withdrawn singer goes missing and it’s all because of some crazy club shenanigans? How can I not have some fun with that? So, here’s where you guys come in! Go ahead and play around with your Evil Patrick theories and be sure to tag me in them! Go all out but, I guess, try to be respectful? Just keep in mind that the dude is still missing. Other than that, post your crazy shit about him working for the government or hiding aliens in his basement! Tag me— the Weekly Trash— in your stuff and you might get a shout-out in next week’s episode! 

 

Okay, still listening? Don’t worry if you’re scribbling out your Patrick theories— I don’t blame you. But I do want to move onto another fun event from this week, the announcement of Christina Ashe’s engagement! I heard the proposal was spectacular and that her current partner… 

 

* * *

 

_ January 28 _

 

While waiting in the parking lot across some abandoned hotel that’s been burnt to a crisp and left alone but for a handful of cop cars and reporters, Pete fidgets. Brendon had texted him the address just a bit ago, his delay in handing over the information blamed on unforeseen circumstances. Perhaps he meant the fire that so clearly blazed here mere days ago; maybe he meant Patrick.

Patrick. At the name, at the mere thought of him, a painful chill crawls across Pete’s skin. Has it been days or weeks since he disappeared? Months or years since the fight they last shared? Time means nothing if it only proves Patrick’s gone. Too many times, Pete’s woken in the middle of the night, terrified he’d forgotten Patrick’s voice or eyes. Were they more blue than green or was it the other way around? And how softly did he say Pete’s name the last time they kissed— how harshly had he spoken when he left? The cruel questions pile up as each day begins and ends.

The cruelest, the most dreadful, though, is the question of where Patrick went. Brendon said this hotel was a good start but, looking at it now, Pete feels sick.

_ (And he conveniently tells himself to forget the times Patrick checked them in on a whim, a dash of romantic inspiration where they’d spend hours tangled together— where Pete would wake alone. Patrick would come back with piles of plates from the breakfast buffet downstairs but there was always something off about him, always a bit like his mind’s an inch to the left of his body. Pete ignored it, then; the thought of it haunts him now, a ghost in his veins that he can never bleed out.) _

At last, while cops are answering questions for nosy reporters and curious journalists, someone sneaks across the rubble; he’s young, a mess of gold hair and a shiny watch wrapped around a thin pale wrist. He glances around, makes sure the coast is clear, and then enters the ash and soot.

Pete hisses, hand gripping his car’s door handle harshly. Confront? Back away? Follow? His mind spins and reminds him that he’s not the clever movie hero he so wishes he could be.

It could be a trap. A trick, a lie, or even a false lead. Following this man could take Pete further away from Patrick, send him on a journey to find someone else’s missing lover. But then, why would the stranger be here if he wasn’t part of the hell Patrick’s gotten himself into? Pete bites his lip, frustration boiling over into desperation. He doesn’t feel the burst of pain when he breaks through to the tender blood beneath. He doesn’t feel much of anything, anymore.

It’s a bit of a paradox at this point, this ebb and flow of what he should feel and what he does. Pain trades out for anger; anger trades out for nothing, at all. And then this numbness, this emptiness, this hollow burning in his gut, fills slowly with guilt and shame of every shade: he should feel worse, should be broken, should be helping the police and comforting the fans. 

He should have never fought with Patrick. He should have never let him leave alone.

Pete won’t admit it out loud— he barely admits it to himself— but the guilt is worse than all the rest combined. It stands on his chest, wraps an accusing hand his throat, and laughs at every shoulda-woulda-coulda thought.

_ You should have stopped him _

_ You would have protected him _

_ You could have had him still at your side if only you weren’t such a fucking idiot _

Just as easily, though, the blame contaminates his thoughts of Patrick. Patrick— polite and kind and perfect.

Patrick— deceiving and hiding and gone.

Patrick— a modern-day vampire but so much worse, so much more dangerous. He doesn’t just drain Pete of his blood and life; he takes his very soul and love and runs, leaving Pete with an impossible quest to reclaim the heart that was stolen from his chest.

But Pete knows he can’t blame Patrick anymore than he could blame Brendon or any other victim of a cult. Pete chews his lip, spreading blood across his mouth and teeth, and looks back outside. Against the backdrop of a bright blue day, the hotel is a stain. It’s everything wrong, a vision of hate and disaster, and only Pete can see past the delusion of something accidentally tragic.

How did Patrick ever find himself here? Kind and perfect Patrick, hiding among dirt and false grandeur. Kind and perfect Patrick, playing the part of a predator behind everyone else’s back. Pete keeps telling himself that Patrick simply didn’t understand what he was getting into, that maybe he still doesn’t understand what he’s done. But the only way to know for sure is to find him. Pete can’t— shouldn’t, won’t— allow himself to focus on anything else.

Even if everything else has Pete questioning his own goals.

Peering back outside, he lets out a loud groan. His car’s windows are tinted but cops keep looking over, gesturing to each other about the strange vehicle parked across the way; they don’t seem like they plan on marching over with questions but Pete places his hands on his keys just in case. The news had reported the initial fire as an accident but Pete can guess that’s not quite true. It’s a little eerie, a little wrong, to wonder if Patrick had anything to do with such a destructive disaster. The thought enters from the wrong side of his mind, reaching for fear and blood with fangs and claws, and seats itself in the forefront of his musings. And now that it’s arrived, it refuses to leave— another question Pete never wants to ask.

The sound of feet scraping across pavement invades Pete’s thoughts, dragging the veil of emotion away from his eyes as he turns to look out his window once again. Again and again, he’s stuck in this loop of looking and never knowing what to do. He never knew what to do with Patrick and, even with Patrick missing, the cycle continues like a clock that refuses to break no matter how many times he slams it to the ground. 

There’s movement in the entry of the building, a speck of black amongst darker shadows, and Pete doesn’t allow himself to hope for anything but the worst. At least, hoping for the worst promises he’ll get what he wants; negativity and pessimism cradle each other like the loners they are. 

The shadow finally takes shape in the form of the man from before, hands shoved deep in pockets and face paler than the sun’s light. 

There’s no time to wait for a charm, a third chance to follow his instincts. Pete shoves his door open and crosses the street, holding his breath the entire time. The stranger pays him no mind, too busy shuffling his way down the sidewalk until ducking into an alley. 

Stereotypical. Cliche. 

It’s terrifying.

Pete stops with a sudden rush of breath into his lungs, sharp and cold and prying into his veins and body with every ounce of guilt and shame he can’t leave behind. Wind blows around him, circling and enveloping him with a sound like murmurs, like a voice that says it would understand if he turned around and forgot why he came. Pete’s only a man, only a human, only someone who’s just discovered the sanctity of life. In a twisted selfish sense, this feels like a test. 

_ “Even this _ .” Patrick’s voice replaces the wind, as warm as it’s always been. “ _ Would you do even this?” _

Pete keeps walking, his footsteps echoing like a stubborn answer to the question in his head. 

He frowns into the alley, the corridor of darkness and his only path to answers; a chill goes down his spine when he sees the stranger leaning against one of the walls as if this meeting had been planned. It’s clear he must have seen Pete but his nonchalance, his casual demeanor, strikes Pete like a knife into his chest. He needs to be more careful when he does this; then he wonders how careful Patrick is when he does this.

Or maybe Patrick’s not careful at all and that’s the entire reason Pete’s found himself here.

“Who are you?” Pete asks, surprised at his own voice. It fills the alley but only the alley, everything else in the world continuing to exist without him and the turmoil always on display when he speaks. 

“Benjamin Williams. Not that it matters— we both know you don’t really care to speak about  _ me _ ,” the stranger answers cooly, his voice kissed with the lingering hint of a British accent. His hands dig deeper into his pockets; he licks his lips and then drags his steely grey eyes towards Pete.

“Benjamin.” Did Patrick ever mention a Benjamin? Did he ever hint that he might have ever encountered a man like this? Pete’s mind aches as he tries to tie this stranger into the life he’s built with Patrick. “I’m looking for someone. He was part of some… part of this group that, I guess… A cult? He was part of a cult and all I know is that he was supposed to be in that hotel.”

“The Culture.” The Culture, The Culture, The  _ Cult _ . Benjamin says it with a sneer so deep it nearly distorts his handsome features. 

In the distance, something grumbles with all the anger of an awakened beast. Benjamin’s eyes dart towards the mouth of the alley, his frustration giving way to fear. Pete jumps forward, feet moving without his will. After a few tense seconds, the sound stops. 

“Sure, yeah, The Culture,” Pete says, fighting all urges to turn his back and look for the source of the noise— to turn his back and run and never stop. “Can you tell me about them?”

Benjamin doesn’t move, doesn’t answer. He seems frozen, dead, a figment of Pete’s own imagination slipping away. At last, reality snaps back into place with all the sting of a rubber band against skin. Benjamin huffs out a heavy sigh, watching as Pete walks even closer to him.

“You’re looking for the man they lost, aren’t you?” Benjamin asks.

“Depends on who they lost.” And it depends on what that means, if it means someone escaped or if they… 

Scenes from The Youngblood Chronicles enter Pete’s mind uninvited, those seemingly silly videos from years ago. Cut off limbs and torture, mind control and death. Too late, Pete wonders if it meant something when Patrick insisted he be the one to play the fake cult’s demon— the pet, the beast, the animal of something greater and more evil than anyone could ever conceive.

“He ran away a bit ago. Helped set the fire and was gone,” Benjamin says, cutting into Pete’s thoughts with a bitter laugh. His eyes, sharper than even his voice, drown themselves in contempt. “I saw the flames, you know. They were larger than they had any right to be.”

“That’s—” Impossible? A lie? Pete doesn’t know what Patrick’s capable of so he doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t know if that’s the person I’m looking for. His name’s Patrick? He’s—”

“Oh my god, Patrick Stump?” Benjamin pulls himself away from the wall, a wicked smile slashing across his face. “You are looking for that arsonist! Do you have any idea what else that liar’s done? He’s horrible, the worst of us all, I swear it. The fire’s the least of his crimes and you’d do best to either forget him or kill him.”

Pete shoves him back against the wall, bone cracking loudly against brick. The need for quiet and control, for some semblance of calm, keeps him from lashing out the way his fists beg to and he settles for pinning Benjamin to the wall like some bug to be collected. Benjamin’s eyes finally widen and, this close, Pete can see specks of blue mixed in with the grey. For a moment, only their breaths are heard between them, panting and gasping and replacing every word they both should say. Ages seem to cross them, centuries that feel long enough for their breaths to become a language of its own: “tell me where he is” “tell me why you want him.”

“Just… Just tell me…” Pete says, his voice gone low and ragged. “Tell me why he was here.”

Benjamin takes a deep breath, recollecting his calm even though his eyes are a storm. His arms shudder beneath Pete’s touch, fists forming at his side when he pulls free from his pockets, at last. When he turns his head, those awful eyes are lost beneath the mess of his blond hair.

“Probably the same reason the rest of us were— to gain something we couldn’t get on our own. Be it money or power or fame, The Culture promises it all. But only if we have something to trade,” Benjamin says. “You give them money or information but it might as well be your damn soul. They ask for more— always more— and by the time you want out, they have enough dirt to keep you in. That’s why I was here— to make sure the blackmail they had on me was properly burnt. Around five years ago I asked for them to clean my record, to keep me from going to jail. All it took was some… some little espionage on the police department and then they controlled both me and the police. They control everyone. Everyone does what they want and, so, the world is what they say it is. Don’t you hear the sound of their searching? You really believe those police don’t know about them? I’d bet the entire department is under their thumb and that racket you heard was their desperation to take back whatever power those flames stole.”

“And Patrick?” Pete asks, fingers digging into Benjamin’s skin, a second away from shaking him like a dog come in from the rain. “Are you telling me he got tricked into this shit?” 

“Tricked, fooled, welcomed with open arms— does it matter?” Benjamin asks, looking at Pete like he’s revealing some grand secret. If Pete was smart, he’d walk away now; if he was smart, this never would have happened.  “It was years back, around the time I joined. We shared the same initiation, did you know? He was a frightened little thing, just got back from some stupid solo show of his. We might have been friends if he hadn’t given into The Culture so easily. Never argued with them, no matter what they asked. Spy on this friend of yours; lie to this enemy of ours… He did it all. And you know why? He told me he traded his soul for a chance at his band again. He damned himself for a bit of fucking fame. And you still wish to pursue him? Knowing what he’s done?”

But Pete doesn’t know what Patrick’s done; he won’t know until he’s heard the words from Patrick himself. Only then, can he pass judgment; only then will he give into the insanity this world is feeding him. The universe disappears slowly, fading to only Pete and the man he’s holding against some bricks. His nails press into the wall and his skin grows cold. 

Fame and fortune, the age-old vice of many evil men. When did Patrick fall into that trap? And would it be possible to drag him back out?

Lies, lies, all lies; Benjamin has to be lying. Patrick would never sell his soul for something as small as temporary fame. Still, the very idea of it burns into Pete like a match against his cheek. 

There has to be a reason for all of this.

There has to be a reason for everything.

“You said something about blackmail,” Pete says, letting go of Benjamin and stepping away reluctantly. His knuckles ache with the desire to crash against bone, to take some sort of control even if it’s on someone who doesn’t deserve it. “Do they have something on Patrick?”

Benjamin smiles and laughs and he doesn’t stop. 

“You really don’t know anything,” he says between his chuckles. “They have something on  _ everyone _ .”

 

* * *

 

_ `Hey,` _

_ `I’m sure you’ll be the first to worry once you hear whatever news they decide to put up next— that I’ve gone missing or I’ve run away or some other nonsense that will sell. I know you usually don’t read that stuff— and that I’ve blocked some of the sites on your computer— but this… this is bigger than I can control. And it’s only fair that I tell you before you find out from someone else.` _

_ `Don’t worry. Don’t go to the police. I don’t have my phone with me right now but I’ll call you as soon as I get one. I know you’ll think I’m crazy and insane and, hey, you’ve had every right every time you’ve said it. But it’s different this time, I think. I’m doing what I think is right and sometimes things that are right are just plain crazy.` _

_ `If people ask, tell them something that will make sense, okay? And if they bother you, let me know. No one’s allowed to do that.` _

_ `Before I go on this stupid adventure, I do have two questions. And hopefully, you’ll have time to think of some answers.` _

_ `What’s the worst thing you’d do for someone you love? And what’s the worst thing you’d let them do for you?` _

_ `I love you, mom. And I promise I’ll come visit soon.` _

_ `— Pete` _

__

* * *

 

 

_ January 29 _

__

#  **Twelve more celebrities “exposed” by anonymous source**

By  **Wyatt Lewis —** January 29, 2019

__

Twelve big-name celebrities— ranging from esteemed actors to up-and-coming musicians— have become the victims in a series of exposures performed worldwide this week.

__

News stations and tabloid writers around the world have received various forms of communication from the same anonymous group. Each time, the group has left reporters with evidence of illegal or humiliating activity from a well-known celebrity.

__

Over this past weekend, as covered in  Monday’s report , three actresses were “exposed” by a video of them making fun of and laughing at a man begging for money at the side of the road. This video was uploaded to Twitter and sent to various news outlets by an account that has since been deleted. Despite the account’s disappearance, the video has recently been re-uploaded to multiple other sites and accounts.

__

Similarly, this weekend also witnessed the fall of Marcus Romeo, a comedian, with the upload of nude pictures to the internet by yet another Twitter user that has deleted. Romeo’s pictures included him with an unknown girl at his backyard swimming pool. Sources note that the original upload censored the girl’s naked body and blurred out her face, leaving only Romeo exposed.

__

This morning, many similar uploads were sent to reporters and bloggers. They range from proof of illegal activity to compromising/humiliating pictures and videos. 

__

Stacy Jones, singer and winner of last year’s season of  _ The Voice _ , spoke about the video uploaded for her— a clip of her mocking another contestant suffering from an eating disorder.

__

“Yeah, okay, I did a sh*tty thing. We all do sh*tty things, it’s part of being human,” Jones said. “But the sh*ttiest thing of all is playing into this cancel culture. And, like, are we really going to pretend we can’t connect the dots? Everyone’s who’s been ‘exposed’ was someone who said that Patrick Stump was the one blackmailing them. All I did was like a tweet and now my career’s on the line. Let’s go after the guy doing this, first.”

__

* * *

 

 

He enters the small room as swiftly as possible, the door slamming shut behind him as the perfect punctuation to his thundering steps. He’s lean, tall with hair too shiny to be entirely natural and eyes too dark to be entirely human. His mouth seems set in a permanent line of sternness, never sulking and never grinning. Gold glistens from his hand in the form of rings and watches, proof of his power in the language of wealth. He folds his hands behind his back, pausing with an unreadable look and breathing only to ask how progress is going.

Paul, one of the more loyal members and a man who’s been with The Culture since the early days, turns from the computer he’d been staring at and greets the man with a satisfied smile. He glances around the basement just once, making sure everyone else is continuing their tasks; certain and proud of the small group gathered in the backup location, Paul speaks.

“We’re halfway through the list, Sin,” he says, addressing the man who’d entered. “Don’t worry. They’ll regret revealing our existence.”

“Good,” Sin says. He steps closer, a quiet kind of confidence around him as he peers down at Paul’s screen. It’s brighter than it should be, the garish blue shade of Twitter sinking into his dark suit and clinging to his jet-black hair. “How foolish these people are. Did they think our threats to be empty?”

Another Twitter thread uploads, this one including information and proof about some author’s illegitimate daughter. Pity that the child had to get involved but, unfortunately, that’s how the world works— children paying for the crimes of their parents, part of the cycle that never completes. If anything, the girl should blame her daddy; his cheating brought her into existence and his decision to hide her away, to treat her like a dirty little secret, only made things worse.

Sin watches as Paul copies the link to the thread and fire an email off to ten different bloggers and journalists. Twitter is a hideous site but it is by far the quickest; when Paul returns to the page, there are already double-digit interactions. Everyone’s thirsty for the blood of the rich; The Culture’s just the only one willing to spill it.

“I think they thought they’d be free. Y’know, with Patrick out of the way?” Paul says, closing the page and looking up at Sin. “What are we gonna do with him, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s useless now,” Sin says with an annoyed sigh. He shoves hair out of his face, the thick rings around his fingers scraping across his scalp with a comforting touch. “People know he’s with us and posting their secrets will only confirm all those accusations. No one will trust him again and trust, as you know, is a fundamental part of The Culture.”

“Then do we post his stuff, too? We can do the same thing we did with everyone else— post enough to scare him but not enough to free him from our grasp entirely.”

“Do you believe me a fool, Paul?” Sin asks, raising an eyebrow. His right hand soaks into his pocket, caressing the smooth side of the thumb drive he’s been keeping with him since Stump’s unfortunate escape. Paul watches, eyes following Sin’s actions with a prying gleam. “No, we don’t scare him and we don’t use him. He’s done more damage than I believe even he knows and that simply cannot be forgiven. He broke our trust, don’t you see? And for that, we need to break him.”

“He’s in hiding. Do you want us to draw him out or…” Paul trails off with a shrug, shutting down his computer as he stands. “I can post it now if you want. I can post all of it.”

A headache. That’s a headache forming in Sin’s mind; he’s never had one before. His eyes shut, softly, and he presses a cool knuckle to his forehead as he thinks. “He must know it’s coming. He was one of our favorite tools for a reason; he’s not stupid like the rest. If he’s hiding, then he knows he’s living on borrowed time. And I—”

“Break him,” Paul echoes in a whisper when Sin cuts off his own sentence. Pride and amusement drain from his tone, just like the color in his face. “You mean you want to kill him.”

Sin looks up suddenly, eyes flashing open with nothing to be seen in that empty abyss. “Wait until he’s returned home. Let him believe his information was destroyed in the fire he left in his wake. And when he is safe, when he is with the people who think they love him no matter what— only then will we post it.”

“How much of it do you want out there?” Paul asks.

“What do you think?” Sin snaps. “He’s compromised everything we’ve worked for, everything we’ve done for this world and its people. If he wants to break the peace we’ve constructed, then he can start by shattering his own.”

“All of it, then,” Paul says with a nod. “We’ve never done that before.”

“We’ve never dealt with someone like Patrick before,” Sin shoots back. “But his heart is his weakness. It’s only right that he be the one to destroy himself.”

“Consider it done. But, Sin?” Paul’s tone is controlled, his expression blank as Sin’s composure slides away like truth from a traitor. Sin nods sharply, waiting for Paul’s question. “He was already planning on leaving; he must have known the price. What if he’s stronger than we think? What if he has a plan?”

Sin wraps his hand around the thumb drive at last. It’s comforting in a way no human can be, impossible amounts of information kept safe on such an insignificant device. Patrick was the same when he joined, a blubbering child desperate to have his friends back at his side. And that desperation led to danger and missions that left him sick in the back of expensive cars. Over time, he improved. Over time, he grew numb.

No one else in The Culture knows what changed but Sin would be a fool not to notice the way Patrick grew closer to his bassist. He’d be as pathetic as Patrick if he didn’t see all the signs of love. Sin wonders what Pete must have said to Patrick to make him wish to leave, to have him risking everything for the sake of the morals he lost years ago. Did he beg? Did he demand? And would he do it again if he knew what Patrick’s already done to him?

Love is a silly thing. If Sin had the time, he’d try to understand it. For now, though, watching Patrick’s descent into insanity has been study enough. Sin knows everything he needs to properly punish Patrick for his crimes against this organization.

“I already told you,” Sin says, voice cool once more as he leans back and appreciates all the men and women at work for him. “Patrick’s heart is his weakness. And that will be what kills him.”

 

* * *

 

_ January 30 _

__

**Geoffrey!** _ @grooveygeoffrey _

I’ve already messaged a couple reporters and shit about it but… Has anyone seen _@PeteWentz_ recently??? It’s like the entire band is vanishing one by one and I have a bad feeling about it…

 

* * *

 

**Taylor Douglas** _ @taydoug _

PLEASE SHARE: I’ve recently made a petition for _@FallOutBoy_ to be disqualified from the Grammys, considering recent events that may lead to impartial judging. The link is in my bio and on the page _@disqualifyfob_. Sign, share, and DM for questions

__

* * *

 

_ January 31 _

__

**wokeupnxt2u**

> This entire fandom is on fire and it’s breaking my heart, guys. People keep fighting or leaving or trying to tear us down and it feels like there’s nothing we can do to stop it. So, while we’re all shouting at each other, let me make a confession: I don’t blame Patrick for anything. 
> 
> Yes, he might have done some really questionable things. Yes, he might not be as good as we all thought. BUT he still isn’t here to defend himself. And we are in no place to be judging when all we have are speculations.
> 
> Just stop putting him on a pedestal and recognize that people— even your idols— can make stupid mistakes. But at the same time, don’t tear him down either. He’s always shown himself to be a good guy and I refuse to believe it was ever even a bit an act.
> 
> Signed, someone who’s tired of the bickering and wants to just focus on bringing Patrick back home.
> 
> _ #fob #fob fandom #every day there’s a new tantrum #missmissingpatrick #rants #stop the hate #fandom rants #fandom drama #patrick stump #fall out boy #everything will be better when he’s back #no hate #just love _

**8,686 notes**

 

* * *

 

There’s something almost strange, something almost freeing, about everyone knowing you’re missing but not knowing when they’ve seen you.

Patrick doesn’t bother himself with elaborate disguises or fake names. All it takes is a hat he’s never worn before— some boonie hat from a truck stop— and people skip right over him in their hunt for fedoras or dad caps or a mess of thinning red-brown hair. An oversized jacket, green and warm, hides his shape. When people ask for his name, he pitches towards the bottom of his range and says “Martin” with something that’s not quite a smile.

The world barely recognized him before. Why should they start now?

“Martin?” The barista calls from behind the counter, a heated croissant and small black coffee placed in front of her. Sammy had been kind enough to lend Patrick some money before running off to his family and, after changing his clothes and investing in some douchey oversized sunglasses to hide the scar across his brow, Patrick’s used most of it on fast food stops and coffee runs. 

“Thank you.” Nearly a whisper, nearly a grumble. The barista turns her back without a word, helping the next customer.

On the speakers in this quaint back alley coffee shop, the radio skips over to a commercial break. Patrick pauses by the trash bins, picking at his croissant as he listens in. 

_ “Hey, hey, hey, it’s Rich Racer with the scoop of the day!”  _ The announcer shouts, earning a grimace from Patrick. “ _ Today we’re talking about that same missing case that popped up yesterday: Pete Wentz. _ ”

Patrick pauses, mouthing Pete’s name as a jolt goes down his spine. He places his coffee down on a nearby table, freeing his hand to steady himself as light-headedness hits. His eyes slip shut and he swallows down a bout of bile, this sickness having nothing to do with the concussion he’s no doubt been dealing with these past few days. The Culture wouldn’t take Pete without him. 

Would they?

“ _ Now, this isn’t half as exciting as I’m sure we were all expecting,”  _ Rich continues, giving Patrick no time to catch his breath or slow his heart. “ _ But Wentz’s mom actually called us to let us know that he’s alright. He’s visiting with Patrick’s family in Chicago in what must be a difficult time for all of them. Ever since confirming the relationship, he’s definitely been a bit MIA but can you—” _

Someone clicks the station over to another station, an alternative channel playing their nonstop tribute to the missing singer.  _ Centuries  _ blares through the cafe and, though embarrassed by his own music, Patrick allows himself to breathe. 

Pete’s fine. For now. At least, that’s what it seems.

But if there’s one thing Patrick’s learned in his years with a psychotic cult, it’s that he should only ever believe the facts if he’s confirmed them himself.

Picking up his coffee and shoving the rest of his croissant in his mouth, Patrick leaves the cafe.

He doesn’t see the girl with the Soul Punk tattoo gawking at him on his way out.

 

* * *

 

_ February 1 _

**Lesbian Michaela** _ @iheart_fob _

PSA to all FOB fans!!!! @/taydoug and @/disqualifyfob have been passing around a petition trying to get our boys disqualified from the Grammys!!! Block and report their accounts, this is such an insensitive thing to do with Patrick missing :(

**XxbbgrlxX** _@emo_farmgrl_

_@iheart_fob_ Tbh? I’m more pissed about the fact that now we’ll never kno if they won bc the music deserved it or bc Patrick went missing  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Lesbian Michaela** _ @iheart_fob _

_@emo_farmgrl_ Wtf? Okay, but consider this— they 100% deserve it after everything they’ve been through? Patrick went fuckign missing ffs and he can be hurt or worse and you want to pretend that means nothing?

**XxbbgrlxX** _ @emo_farmgrl _

_@iheart_fob_ Ok first CHILL. I stand by what I said. Also,,,, like,,,, what if it’s his cult getting the grammy for them lmao. You really think MANIA deserved a nom? Let alone the award itself? Please. I have to laugh.

**XxbbgrlxX** _ @emo_farmgrl _

_@iheart_fob_ Anyways I’m not saying this to be a bitch. I’m actually a fan of fob and wish the band the best. Also if ur rlly worried about Patrick you should check the Miss-Missing-Patrick tumblr. There’s a ton of good stuff there 

**XxbbgrlxX** _ @emo_farmgrl _

_@iheart_fob_ Warning, a lot of the “sightings” are just lookalikes tho

 

* * *

 

 

**patrick-gay**

> Our fandom is dying :(
> 
> I joined this fandom with the release of MANIA last year and I was really excited to get to know more people who loved my favorite band. And the year that we had was amazing. I went to a concert, met up with some internet friends, and even overcame some of my anxiety!!! I was so excited to see what the new year would hold. Even if fob was on a break, I’d know that my friends and the fandom would still be around.
> 
> But then all of this happened. And it felt like something straight out of a drama movie. I don’t want to be selfish and say that I’m hurt that it ruined my first dip into the fandom experience but now it seems like everyone’s fighting or leaving and I’m just hanging out in this empty corner with all my past love for the band. I have a ton of fan art I never got to post. A ton of memes and jokes I wanted to make. But nobody can even tag Patrick or the band without getting hate from people who left or people who only know what the news is saying!!!
> 
> I’ll probably delete this later but I just needed to get all of this off my chest. I really love all the memories I’ve made with this band and its fans but maybe it’s time to move on before it collapses in on itself… And maybe it is selfish but I kinda want to distance myself in case anything worse happens. I mean, it’s been about a month since Patrick went missing, right? I don’t want to say it but I think I know what we’re all thinking.
> 
> I don’t want to be around when we get the news that he’s gone for good…
> 
> _ #my thoughts #miss missing patrick # _ _ i;;m really sorry it just had to be SAIaid #ill be loggin ooff for a while #i just nnneed time to thinnk # i know everyone;s goin to hate meo FOR sayin it _

**6 notes**

* * *

 

 

#  **Brendon Urie to release 2011 demo recorded with Patrick Stump**

By  **Daryl Walker** — February 1 2019

Realizing that one of your friends has gone missing can’t be easy for anybody but it’s exactly what Brendon Urie, also known as Panic At The Disco, has been going through for the past month.

After the sudden disappearance of fellow musician and close friend, Patrick Stump, Urie set to work seeking out ways to honor his missing friend. Last month, he attended a vigil in Chicago and spoke fondly of Stump, reminding fans that the singer would want them to take care of themselves first.

Now, Urie has announced plans to release an unfinished demo from 2011 that he and Stump worked on while touring together. Untitled and unfinished, Urie says he rediscovered the song on his computer last week and knew right away that he had to share it.

“It’s terrifying how easy you can forget about a song— and I’m the one who wrote it,” Urie says. “It was a bit of a wake up call that we won’t always remember everything about the people missing in our lives. So it’s important that we help each other remember. I’m hoping this song will do just that.”

Urie plans to release the demo tomorrow, following his live Q&A interview with…  **(** **Read More** **)**

 

* * *

 

_ February 2 _

#  **Brendon Urie’s** ** _Patrick_** **demo lands at Number 1 on the Official Trending Charts**

** By  **Daryl Walker** — February 2 2019 **

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

**Press Release**

Studio City, California

Los Angeles Police Department

Michael Moore - Chief of Police

 

February 3, 2019

7:10 AM- For Immediate Release

On January 27, 2019, at approximately 4:15 p.m., a Tumblr account uploaded what appeared to be an image of Patrick Stumph. Authorities received the picture from a concerned source two days later.

Upon further inspection, police cannot confirm that the man in the image is the same as Patrick Stumph, the subject of a recent missing person case.

Detectives have attempted to locate the original source of the picture but have been unable to speak with the original owner for the time being. Other citizens have approached the detective offices with reports of sightings but none so far have been confirmed.

Also concerning the Stumph case: police and other authorities, after taking recent revelations and discoveries into consideration, have deemed the likelihood of a kidnapping to be ruled out. The Stumph home showed no sign of a struggle and no demands for ransom have been made. 

It is likely that Stumph left of his own volition. It is as equally likely that, rather than being kidnapped, he was attacked and/or killed.

  
Police will be investigating both of these leads until further notice.  Anyone with information regarding this case can remain anonymous and is encouraged to contact the Los Angeles Police Department tip hotline or Detective Eric Graham with the North Hollywood Community Police Department.

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 3 _

It’s still dark when Joe steps outside, rushing to his car with his hands in his pockets. Wind whips around him, tugging at his hair and reminding him he should get it cut soon. Or, at least, he should get a hat for the winter. But hats have always been Patrick’s thing and Patrick’s always colder than anyone which is why he’s always wearing Pete’s jacket and—

Fuck. 

Joe stops at his car, leaning against the metal even though it feels like ice pressed to his skin. He could go back inside before his mind starts on this cycle again, this thing where every piece of the world reminds him of someone he’s lost. Andy would talk him down; he’s good at that. But Andy’s staying with friends while he’s here and Joe knows they wouldn’t understand what it’s like to lose Patrick. No one could ever understand what it’s like to lose  _ Patrick _ .

Pete, too, Joe thinks with a sigh that shapes like a cloud around his head. Because Pete had to play the hero and run off like he has a plan, like they should all just trust him whenever he disappears without a word, like they all don’t share a heart attack whenever he does that. That’s what Joe was meeting with Andy about tonight— to figure out if they should report Pete missing, too. But Andy was calm as ever, though his fears showed in the way he rambled more than he usually does. 

Give it time, he’d said with darting eye and fingers constantly tapping against the table between them. They just need time.

Bullshit. They need to be  _ home _ . But when does Joe ever get what he wants? With another angry sigh and a frustrated grunt, he opens the door and gets in his car. He starts up the heat, chattering from the way the cold had collected inside the vehicle, and waits. Waits for warmth, waits for change, waits for a goddamned sign from the heavens. 

None appear. He’s not really that surprised. He’s more dejected than anything when he rests his head against the steering wheel, biting his tongue. It’s a habit he’s picked up ever since that interview. Always biting his tongue to make sure he doesn’t screw anything else up; always swallowing his words before he condemns another friend.

He’s blinking back tears when the passenger door opens and someone slides in.

“Did you finally realize we should go to the police?” Joe asks. It’s either Andy or a murderer and, at this point, he doesn’t really care which.

Except—

“Not really,” Patrick says. “I’d actually prefer to keep them out of things, if you don’t mind.”

Joe turns his head and pulls back, looking at the ghost beside him with eyes wide enough to swallow the sky whole.  

“No,” he says, his voice thick with the tears teasing him before. “No, no, no, no,  _ no.  _ You can’t— You wouldn’t— I don’t… I can’t…”

He can’t decide whether he’s hurt or upset, whether he hates Patrick or loves him for returning. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, and his mouth hangs up uselessly, allowing every ragged breath to escape.

Patrick, at least, has the decency to look ashamed, his cheeks as red as they always seem to be as he twists the stupid hat in his lap. There’s a cut on his head, something sure to scar, and his eyes seem deeper and darker than they were before. But have they really changed? Or has it been so long that Joe’s forgotten?

Patrick won’t look at Joe and he carries on as if Joe hadn’t spoken at all. “Unless, I mean, you had a different reason to go to the police. Did someone attack you? Were you robbed?”

“No, but I was emotionally traumatized and lied to by my best friend,” Joe says, each word a teardrop in the chilled air around them. It’s a snowglobe and his words are the flakes, scattering around them with no idea of their landing place. Still, he can’t look away from Patrick; there’s no saying if he’ll vanish the second Joe dares to blink. “Where the fuck have you been, you asshole? Are you okay?”

Patrick flinches, his eyes distant enough for Joe to wonder if the reaction was provoked by something within his own mind. A moment passes, a second of harsh reality and the fear of losing Patrick again, and then Patrick looks into Joe’s eyes with a look so terribly ashamed that it cuts deep into Joe’s bones. 

“I’ll tell you, I promise. But, first, can you take me to your place? I want to, like, clean up and get some better clothes but I can’t go back to my house. Obviously.” Patrick says.

The audacity, the gall, the very nerve of Patrick to demand and request things like this without offering an explanation. He’s in Joe’s car now, back in his life as if he never left, and Joe should do the smart thing. He should take Patrick to the police and make him explain; he should call Andy or Brendon or any other number of their friends. He should take a page out of Pete’s book and post the revelation online for everyone to read and dissect.

But it’s Patrick— stupid, foolish Patrick. The kid Joe grew up with, the only other person who could understand what it’s like to grow up so fast, to trade your youth for music and hope. The boy from record stores and pretentious conversations, the one who missed his mom when they started this band and the one who yelled at his dad on the phone for missing a show. He’s Patrick, Patrick,  _ Patrick _ in every possible. And, looking into those stupid watering blue eyes, Joe can only see the best friend standing in an apartment hallway and begging Joe not to make him sing in front of a room of only 50 people. He sees someone sitting beside him in a van rumbling down a road to nowhere; he sees someone who’s always needed his help, even if no one else has noticed it before.

He sees Patrick. 

So maybe Joe doesn’t do the smart thing but when he pulls away from the house and starts for his own he knows he’s doing the right thing.

“You don’t have to tell me everything right away but you owe me  _ something _ . That stuff they’re saying about you… about cults and blackmail and shit… Is any of it true?” Joe asks. His words come quick, running into each other, but only because taking his time and thinking it through would ensure that they never come at all. “What have you done?”

Patrick’s silent, so silent he might as well be dead. Joe glances over a couple times, both to be sure he’s alive and to be sure he’s still there.

“It was what I needed to do, at the time. I was… I made a deal so that the band would be back. I won’t regret that part.” The lights of the traffic signals coat Patrick in red when they stop, bathing him in the softest shades of blood as he speaks. Joe looks over and Patrick looks down, running his fingers across his lap in shapes Joe’s too dazed to read. The light turns green and Patrick glances at Joe, their eyes meeting in the split second before Joe turns to stare at the neverending stretch of highway. “But you have to believe me when I say I never went into this wanting to hurt anybody. I’m sorry for never telling you. I’m sorry for leaving all of you alone.”

It’s the last thing he says during the drive and Joe can’t bring himself to speak. He waits for Patrick to hate him for sharing his secret; he waits for Patrick to beg for forgiveness of his own. His mind spins in circles so terrible they might not be circles at all and, by the time they arrive in his driveway, Patrick’s “I’m sorry” is all he hears in his head. It’s a tense thing to say, an attempt at an apology that doesn’t deserve to be heard. Whether or not he meant to, Patrick left them. Maybe it wasn’t all at once; maybe this is something that’s been chipping away at his presence. Still, he left. He made an awful deal— a selfish deal— and everyone who loves him paid the price in their misery and grief.

Patrick doesn’t deserve to be forgiven and, with the car turned off and the heaters’ blast warming their air, he looks like someone who knows this. Curled in towards himself, staring at his reflection like he knows how much Joe wants to shatter it.

Joe reaches over and lets his hand drop onto Patrick’s leg. 

“Hey, it’s good to have you back, you know” he says. “It’s good to know you’re safe.”

In the dim pale light of the moon, Patrick finally smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do hope you guys are liking this, I know the plot is wacky and might not be moving in the direction you think. Still, I'm really grateful you're giving this a try and I hope it's something worth reading :)
> 
> Please comment and remember to have a lovely day/night!!


	4. February 4 - February 10 (Everything Is Going To Change)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You only hold me up like this because you don't know who I really am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get to the notes thinking I must have something important to say but here we are and.... I've got nothing. Yikes.
> 
> Ummm.... I haven't started editing the format yet and it's around 10pm so I'm assuming this was posted maybe a few hours late so have an apology for that. I do have a reason for it-- something to do with study abroad plans over the summer-- but that isn't quite finalized yet so I don't want to sound too excited haha.
> 
> Anyway, uh, this chapter. Yeah. I hope you like it. Beware foreshadowing and let me know what you think!!
> 
> *** Let me know if you spot any easter eggs in here :)
> 
> <>  
> Chapter Playlist:  
> \- Demon Days (Do It All Again) by Wild Wild Horses  
> \- Nightmare by Arshad  
> \- Armor by Landon Austin  
> \- Of All The Gin Joints In All The World by Fall Out Boy

 

_February 4_

 

 

**Press Release**

 

Studio City, California

Los Angeles Police Department

Michael Moore - Chief of Police

February 4, 2019

5:00 PM- For Immediate Release

  


This morning— February 4, 2019— at approximately 7 a.m., Joseph Troham delivered a statement to the Los Angeles Police Department. He brought with him a letter he claims was written by Patrick Stumph.

 

The letter has been taken in for examination and authentication. The contents of said letter claim that Stumph is safe and away from danger for the time being. It also asks for fans and family to be reassured of his safety. It claims cannot speak to police or press and he does not expect to be home any time soon.

 

Trohman’s statement was that the letter was left on his porch after a series of knocking at his door at approximately 6:30 a.m. He said he did not come in contact with Stumph or any other person between the time of receiving the letter and the time of bringing it to the authorities.

 

Investigators and detectives on the case insist that the letter is not to be immediately believed seeing as it is neither authenticated or an answer to the question of Stumph’s whereabouts. Following authentication, investigators will consider the possibility of the letter being written by force.

 

The investigation into Stumph as a missing person has lasted for approximately one month at the time of writing. Recently, detectives have determined the possibility of homicide or a runaway case. Although the former has been deemed most likely by detectives on the case, investigators have continued their search.

 

As we continue to investigate, we encourage any witnesses with information regarding this incident to contact the dispatch center at (***) ***-**** or the Partners Against Crime (a partnership between the LAPD and Studio City Residents Association) at (***) ***-****. Witnesses may also submit an anonymous tip using the LAPD tip hotline. Callers can remain anonymous and may be eligible for a reward up to $1,000.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 4_

 

“You should have told me he was there,” Pete says. He hadn’t wanted to turn on his phone so soon into the quest— paranoia more active than it’s been in years— but someone on the street had been whispering about the Patrick news; someone had let it slip that he might have shown up. “I should have been the first to know.”

“Did you read what the cops said? I didn’t see him. It was only the letter and, even then, they don’t know if it’s his,” Joe says. His voice is static on the line, blending in with the sidewalk of people bustling past Pete without a second thought. It’s the intoxicating thing of being somewhere so large, the heart of a city that swallows you whole; it shrinks you. It’s as terrifying as it is addicting.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be able to recognize your own best friend’s handwriting?” Pete snaps, growling and shaking and waiting for the slightest breeze to tear him apart. “Not even after twenty fucking years of knowing him?”

“Don’t you think I would have tried to tell you if I really saw him?” Joe’s persistent, begging just as much as Pete is.

He’s avoiding the question and Pete’s not stupid enough not to realize.

“I think you would have kept his secret if he told you to.” Pete hates the words, hates the implication that this is a game of hide-and-seek and Joe’s abiding by some code but the answer he receives is silence. The answer he hears is Joe’s telltale stutter of breath that means Pete’s got him.

When he hears it, Pete’s bones could turn to dust and he’d never notice.

Patrick was home. Maybe not his home but with his family, with the people who know and love him more than anyone else. He was a phone call away, a car drive away, and Pete could have had him back.

Patrick was close and Pete was in the wrong place, wrong time; just like he always is. One step behind Patrick, one breath too late. Telling a joke with the timing so wrong it does more than fall flat; it fails to exist.

And Pete himself is fading away as he imagines the hole in his gut, the hole burned in deep by Patrick’s last glare, growing like a city covering a bug.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joe says but it’s far too late for that.

Pete’s done with shouting and playing pretend. He leans into his phone and shuts his eyes with a pathetic whine.

“Joe,” he says, whining the name. “Please.”

Another pause, another terrible silence.

“You know him pretty well, don’t you? And I guess he knows you down to the core, too,” Joe says, the words long and drawn-out, as defeated as Pete feels when a small sob crawls up his throat.

“What did he say? Did he—” Did he mention the fight? Did he ask about Pete? Did he leave again or is he…

Joe takes a deep breath and Pete can picture the shrug to go along with it. “I don’t know what he wants me to say and I don’t know what you want to hear. Last time I opened my mouth I fucked things up so I’m taking a backseat on this. You two need to figure yourselves out.”

“But—” Pete cuts off, his grip on the phone tightening to a point where his fingers ache and he imagines he can hear the plastic casing crack. “Fine. That’s fair. But you owe me, Joe. You owe me the truth so— is he still there? Are you hiding him, still? Is he- Can I talk to him? Please?”

Joe’s breath stammers its way back into existence, a confession in the form of a secret he’s prepared to keep. The same way he gave himself away before, he gives up Patrick with the softest of breaths.

And it’s the last thing Pete hears before Joe hangs up.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 5_

  


**anonymous** submitted to **miss-missing-patrick**

NEW THEORY ALERT:

CONSIDER: ITS ALL TIED TO THE YBC. LIKE

PHOENIX: PATRICK GOES MISSING/IS KIDNAPPED. PETE FINDS OUT FIRST AND STARTS OFF THE WHOLE MISSION TO SAVE HIM

YOUNG VOLCANOES: (a bit of a reach with this one but stay with me) THE ENTIRE BAND IS INVOLVED WITH TRYING TO SAVE PATRICK? OR FIND HIM. AND THEY ALL OBVS KNOW MORE THAN THEYRE LETTING ON BUT ITS NOT HELPING THEM AT ALL (ALSO IN YV THEY’RE BLINDFOLDED WHEN PATRICK IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM SO BASICALLY THEY HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO LET HIM DISAPPEAR. LIKE NOW WHEN THE POLICE ARE TELLING EVERYONE TO BASICALLY BACK OFF)

ALONE TOGETHER: PETE. PETE. FUCKING PETER WENTZ. _PETERICK._ HE TRIES TO SAVE PATRICK BUT FAILS. IRL HE ADMITTED TO THE RELATIONSHIP. _PETERICK_

MSKWYDITD: PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO RUIN PATRICKS REPUTATION AND FOBS CAREER WITH THE GRAMMY SHIT AND THE NEW RUMORS

MIGHTY FALL: ?!??!?!? CULT SHIT? OTHER ARTISTS GETTING INVOLVED IN EITHER HATING OR DEFENDING PATRICK? _THE BAND RUNNING IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS???_

JUST ONE YESTERDAY: THE! PATRICK! SIGHTINGS!!!!!!!!! PEOPLE ARE SEEING HIM IN PUBLIC IRL LIKE FOXES FINDING HIM ON THE SIDE OF THE STREET

IDK WHAT HAPPENS NEXT BC SHIT MAN I DONT WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IF THEY GO ALL WHERE DID THE PARTY GO. BUT IT SEEMS LIKE TOO MUCH OF A COINCIDENCE TO IGNORE!!! DO YOU THINK PATRICK WAS FORESHADOWING THIS HAPPENING?? DO YOU THINK THERE ARE CLUES TO HELP US FIND HIM??????????!!!!!!!!!!!

 

(~answer~) Oh boy, the YBC thing has been really popular recently, hasn’t it??? I can’t say I paid too much attention to the parallels at the beginning but laid out like this (even if the all caps makes it a bit harsh on the eyes haha) makes me wonder… I think it would imply, though, that the other guys were in on it, too? Pete, at least, I mean… everyone blames the treatments on him so I guess they’d have to be really open about the cult together and I think that we’ve pretty much deduced that the Fight was about Pete not knowing about it? Still!! A great theory!!! Send more!!

_#missmissingpatrick #theories #ybc #submission #anon_

**224 notes**

 

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 **emophanart** submitted to **miss-missing-patrick**

I was curious about everyone’s thoughts about the sightings? Because some of them seem really possible but others are, like, halfway across the country so not all of them can be real. Which is obvious but people keep freaking out every single one and I think that’s part of the reason why the police won’t take actual reports as seriously as they should. I would say the sightings would stop if it wasn’t giving people so much hope. And this is coming from someone who swears she saw Patrick going into a convenience store bathroom a few days ago…

(~answer~) Ahhhhh I don’t blame you for being upset or frustrated and I actually agree with you so thanks for sending this in. I’ll make a more official post about this later but, yeah, people are seeming to claim sightings just bc they know they’ll get 1000+ reblogs and followers but no one really has any proof. I mean, were you around for this weekend’s latest drama? If not, check out my [patrickomatic](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/74/c6/46/74c6462721624cd354b6b09a39d03d9d.jpg) tag. Basically, this pretty famous fan page for FOB on instagram was having her boyfriend dress like Patrick and she’d take these pics of him in public to make it seem like she kept seeing him. Fucked up stuff for sure and it took some pretty dedicated followers to bring her down (thanks again Shay and Mick!!!). Another problem is that fans (mostly the younger ones) just want to see him so badly that I think they’re tricking themselves into thinking they’re seeing him. At least 80% of the submissions we get about “sightings” are just two sentence texts posts screaming about how they ran into him at an airport or truck stop and I’m just like. No. We need actual photo evidence like @[shameless-peterick-writer](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/f2/70/bb/f270bbf4c9ff5a61c94f392585201453.jpg)’s [pic](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/40/78/39/407839e8eaf3db6b072a8c2c24cbf33f.jpg) (which is pretty legendary at this point. It’s like the fandoms own personal iconic bigfoot photo lol). But year, everything you said… except for the last bit. Sorry!!! But I have to be fair about it with everyone :)

_#missmissingpatrick #submission #patrick stump #sightings #fall out boy #emophanart_

**466 notes**

 

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 **thepartyleft** submitted to **miss-missing-patrick**

ur only running this blog bc you want to be the Special Person to find patrick and ur taking advantage of fans emotions to do it :/ ur giving false hopes with the theories and ur completely ignoring the fact that patricks done some terrible things

(~answer~) Yes and no? Yes, I want to help find Patrick because it’s better than sitting around sending useless hate— or whatever it is you do. I also feel like it’d be a waste not to put the fandom to use in a situation where our skills as fans— photo finding, sharing communication, and passion just to name a few— could really excel. But I would never take advantage of anyone to do that. What about my emotions? What about the way I feel when it comes to Patrick being gone? Get out of here with that bullshit. I don’t see you doing anything to help. And from looking at your blog, you seem like a pretty nasty person anyway.

_#submission #block and report this person their acct is just awful jokes about patrick being gone or hurt #hate #thepartyleft #not even replying to that last part bc im so over it_

**464 notes**

 

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 **peterickwins** submitted to **miss-missing-patrick**

Hi!! Hello!! I think what you’re doing is wonderful and I really hope you find out how to find him!! I just wanted to know if you had any theories about the letter that came in??? I know police haven’t verified it but I’ve got my fingers crossed that he’s alright and safe!

 

(~answer~) Well, hello, and thank you!! It’s so sweet of you to say that :) We’re certainly doing our best over here and I feel like we’ve really got a shot at figuring it all out!

As for the letter, the main theories revolve around it being fake or real. But then there are also a ton of little nuances. Was it forced? Was it by someone who knows him? Is it true, regardless of who wrote it? I’d love to add your theories to the lists, too!

There have also been some pretty divided reactions. While I’m with you in the warm hopes that he’s alright, some who think the letter is real is pretty hurt by the fact that he won’t explain anything. @[i-have-patricks-hand](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/57/d9/ca/57d9cad16109db70acbbe7e9c1c4192b.jpg) posted a [well-written and understandable thought-piece](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6e/4f/90/6e4f90918368b677145d301f4b9324a0.jpg) about how unfair it is for him to be putting the fans through this. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid and we respect it so long as you don’t go calling Patrick names (as some fake fans have been turning to)

I’ll open the rest of this up to my followers!! What do you think about the letter? What are your theories and reactions? Send them in or reply!!

Thanks again for your message! I hope to see you around here again sometime soon!

_#nice messages #thank youuu #peterickwins #letter #patrick stump #missmissingpatrick_

**1,124 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

 **81 DAYS TIL ENDGAME** _@patssass_

I’ve been hurting bc of everything’s that’s happened recently and last night was the 1st time in a while I felt ok. I was listening to MANIA and drawing and made some fanart to celebrate the grammys.  I’m just sad bc I can’t post it without people thinking it’s insensitive… :(

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 6_

 

“I’m giving you two minutes to explain to me when you saw Patrick and why you didn’t want to tell the rest of us.” The words are sure, strong in their certainty and powerful in their lack of tremors. It’s nothing like the first time Andy practiced saying it, sitting in his car while waiting in Joe’s driveway. Then, he’d been shaking— first in rage, next at the thought of having one of his closest friends hidden from him. He doesn’t want to threaten Joe but he also doesn’t want to let Patrick escape back into whatever darkness he’s been enveloped in.

So, when Joe opens the door, Andy shoves his way through and demands to know the truth.

“You and Pete, I swear,” Joe murmurs but he’s wringing his hands, he’s hanging his head, he’s still waiting by the door as if he can convince Andy to leave.

“If Pete’s bothering you, too, I’m sure you deserve it,” Andy says, turning only once he’s reached the living room and made sure no one— no children and no Marie— were hanging about to hear the drama. Joe follows with a sigh and soft mutterings to himself, picking up small dolls and toy instruments as he makes room for Andy and him to sit on the couch. Andy mimics his sigh, softly nudging away a small stuffed bear and looking Joe in the eyes. If Pete has been calling, no doubt he’s been persistent; no doubt he’s been trying every dirty trick to get Patrick back. Though Andy would love nothing more than to do the same, to earn his answers, Joe’s tired eyes turn him away from the thought. “Is it because you didn’t trust us? Or did something happen? I know you’ve been upset since the interview thing but that’s passed and no one else cares for it anymore. So don’t feel like you need to handle life on your own— you’ve still got us. Just like Patrick does, whether or not he knows it.”

Joe stiffens and turns away, elbows on his knees as he hunches over. “It’s not that.”

And it’s then Andy realizes that Joe’s voice is still shaking the way it was when he showed up days ago to beg Andy to go to the police, to find Pete before he disappears, too. Andy had reassured him that Pete was fine, that he was doing what he does— something extreme. But, now, Andy looks back at that night with a different scope, wondering if Joe knew something even then. It causes him to tense, to pull back and reconsider where he is, what he’s doing.

“You’re alone?” He asks. Joe shrugs, an unhappy action.

“Marie’s with a friend until we get this all settled. The paps started asking her questions, too, and it wasn’t long until someone got her mixed up in this shit. I sent the girls to stay with her after that… after the letter. I didn’t want—” Joe cuts off but not as if he planned to, not as if he’s choking or thinking of what comes next. It’s more like a river running dry, his voice thinning until it has nothing left to give.

Andy nods though Joe’s not watching. His eyes scan the room as if he can spot something he might have missed before. But his investigation is interrupted by Joe’s constant sighs; his bias returns every time he thinks of how long it’s been since he’s heard Patrick’s voice.

“We just miss him,” Andy says, copying Joe’s posture and sunken position. “I’m sorry for storming in but… You understand, right? I mean, you’d tell us if he really did show up?”

Joe sinks impossibly lower, his voice something hoarse and small when he speaks. Before the first word is out, Andy already knows something’s wrong.

“I lied to Pete,” Joe says, eyes shut and muscles tense. “Please don’t make me lie to you, too.”

Andy’s eyes narrow and his fingers dig into the couch as if the dirtied cushions could anchor him to the outrageous reality he’s suddenly fallen into. A world where his best friends lie and sneak around and disappear without a thought of who they’re leaving behind. A universe where he has to beg for the truth, fight for it, tear into people he’s come to call a family. A life where Joe’s broken by his own choices, where Pete’s losing his mind with each passing day— where Patrick is a mystery Andy’s not sure he can solve.

Every accusation sits on his tongue, every insult and cry of betrayal ready to latch onto Joe’s skin.

But then they’re gone, something slowly creaking down the stairs with all the gentle pressure of a child listening to their parents fight.

Andy glances up sharply, his hands already folded into fists. Has someone come to take them, too? Has Patrick’s cult finally arrived?

But when Andy sees it, it’s in spurts. Sweats hanging loosely from hips hidden beneath a too small Metallica tee tugged tight over a rounded stomach and hugging soft pale arms. A cardigan hiding steady hands as they cover a yawning mouth. Socks and glasses and a stupid hat Andy’s never seen before.

Messy red-brown hair and blue-green eyes that will never look as apologetic as they should.

Before Patrick reaches the bottom step, Andy’s on his feet and crossing the room.

“Hey, wait,” Joe protests, jumping up and following with hands tugging uselessly on Andy’s arms and shirt. “Let him explain, okay? You need to- I- It’s, uh—”

“What the hell is going on?” Andy asks, stopping a few steps before the stairs. Patrick’s at the bottom now, toying with the hem of the shirt he’s no doubt borrowed from Joe. Andy can’t look at him any longer. “Has he been here this entire time? Did he ever really go missing at all or was it some stupid prank?”

“Do you really think we’d do something like that?” Joe snaps, all previous tremors gone. He turns to Patrick, his expression softening as he does; Andy’s stomach turns. He can’t imagine speaking to Patrick right now, can’t imagine looking at him without wondering what kind of person leaves his friends. “Can’t you explain it? He’ll understand, you know that. You just need to give him time.”

“Understand?” Andy says through clenched teeth. His eyes beg to shut, to find out if this is all a dream.

“I know.” Patrick’s voice is soft. Patrick’s voice is scared. But Patrick’s voice is also _here_ and Andy’s throat closes up against every other word he wanted to shout. “But can we sit down first? Or give it some time? I, uh. My head hurts.”

Andy would call it an excuse and he nearly does. But he knows Patrick and embarrassment clings to his words; when Andy looks over, Patrick’s face is red. Deeper than his blush, though, is the gash across his brow, the cut that’s healed but still has Andy taking a step back with a stuttered gasp. It’s not a terrible wound, nothing he couldn’t have gained from a misstep on stage, but it points to the muddy circles beneath his eyes and the grim set of his lips. It clashes against the unusual paleness of his face and complements the tossed about look of his hair.

Under Andy’s gaze, Patrick bites his lip and leans against the banister for support. Still, he doesn’t look away.

Andy could walk off. He could leave this behind for people who won’t play with him like this. He entertains the idea for only a moment, two decades of memories playing through his mind in the time it takes to blink.

“Sure,” Andy says without making any movement towards a seat. “Just. Let me think about things first. You can tell me what you need to say but… First, I—”

“Yeah.” Patrick takes the last step toward Andy, close enough for Andy to see the worried flitters of his eyes. “Of course. Do what you need.”

_Do what you need._

Andy holds his breath. He takes in the sight of someone he was beginning to believe he’d never see again.

_Do what you need._

And he promptly pulls him in for a hug.

“I hate you,” he says, not really meaning it at all. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Patrick flinches and Andy doesn’t think too much of it, focusing instead on the warm wrap of Patrick’s arms curling back around him. He’s the same if a bit more hesitant; he’s safe if a bit scared and withdrawn. It’s more than Andy had been envisioning. It’s more than he was ready for.

“Oh, thank god,” Joe says with a heavy sigh, the words punctuated by the sound of him collapsing back onto the couch. “He gets to live another day.”

“Only if he has a good excuse. Or a believable one. Or literally anything to explain where he’s been and why’s he back,” Andy says, tightening his hold on Patrick briefly before letting go, the warmth of Patrick’s body lingering on his clothes and skin as if to prove he’s really here. It takes all of Andy’s willpower to look away, to turn his back to Joe and trust that Patrick stays. “You said something about explaining? Do you guys want to get started on that? Should I call Pete?”

“No,” Patrick says, rubbing his temple and crossing the room to join Joe on the couch. He sinks into it with a relieved sigh, smiling ruefully at the floor. “I need to talk to him myself. You know. Alone. In person.”

“Which is why I would call him,” Andy says, a shaking hand coming to rest on his hip. He stays where he is, afraid he’ll collapse if he tries to move. “What are you up to, Patrick? Does it have to do with the… the cult rumors that have been going around? What did you _do_?”

Patrick looks up, smile fading into a broken frown and his eyes focused on a spot right over Andy’s shoulder.

“Now _that_ is the question you both should have asked from the start,” he says, something twisting around his throat and making his words come out choked. At last, Andy moves to sit on a chair on the other side of the couch.

“What… What do you mean?” He asks this slowly, cautiously, as careful as disarming a bomb. Patrick looks away, wincing as he does so.

“Joe?” He asks. “The bag you said you’d help me with… the one with the new clothes and cash… Is it ready?”

“It’s waiting upstairs, sure,” Joe says, as reluctant to speak as Andy had been. “Why?”

“Because,” and Patrick looks up, looks to them both, looks into Joe’s and Andy’s eyes like he’s seen the future and knows it can’t be changed, “when I tell you what I’ve done, you’re going to tell me to leave."

 

* * *

 

 

 **Recording Acadamy / GRAMMYs** _@RecordingAcad_

We’re less than a week away from discovering your Grammy winners! Browse the full list of the 61s #GRAMMYs nominees!

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 7_

 

“Hello and welcome viewers! I’m Bryan with Popsound and I am so excited to introduce Brendon Urie of Panic At The Disco.” Bryan claps his hands together for the camera, leaning forward with a smile on his bearded face. He waits, presumably to gain confirmation that the live stream is up and running, and then turns to face Brendon. “Or should I just say Panic at the Disco of Panic at the Disco?”

Brendon laughs; he’s supposed to laugh. “Sure, man, whatever. I mean, it’s not wrong, right?”

“Right.” Bryan laughs. So much goddamn laughing and they only just started. “Alright, well, how are you doing today, Brendon? How are things holding up?”

Is he referring to Patrick and how broken Brendon should be over it? Is he asking about the demo and the backlash he received from fans— _sell out, insensitive, just trying to make a buck out of a tragedy_?

“Ah, I’m doing the best I can, you know?” Brendon tacks on the questioning tone, leaving no room for his answer to be disputed as Bryan nods. “Just happy to have the chance to be here. Thanks for inviting me.”

It’s the right answer, it seems, because Bryan nods again before glancing down at the list of questions and topics in his lap.

“We’re always happy to have you, thanks for accepting the invite. It’s fun to go live with a guy like you.” Bryan looks back up, the microphone tilted towards his chin. “So I’ve got a couple questions of my own to go through and then I was gonna hand you over to the fans. What do you say?”

What can he say? Brendon pastes on a smile and nods with a giggling laugh.

“Aw, man, you’re tossing me to the wolves? Come on!” It’s a joke and Bryan goes along with it, teasing about the Twitterverse and the dangers within. Soon though, he moves along with a nod at the camera. The lens shifts, the cameraman turns the angle, and Brendon wonders what they’re seeking.

“So, we’ll start this easy. I’ll just ask a basic question I’m sure you’ve answered a couple times already.” Bryan doesn’t seem excited to be asking it either and the little twist of reluctance in the corner of his lips has Brendon easing down into the plush seat they’ve set out for him. “It’s about the demo, of course. Everything’s about the demo for you, I’m sure. It’s a beautiful song, even if it’s unfinished, and I have to admit it was touching to hear something from Patrick. With everything going on, it’s nice to have that tribute. But I was wondering, for you, what does that song mean? Not in an interpretation of the lyrics manner but more in the question of… What do you think of when you hear it? And has that meaning changed in the time since you decided to release it?”

 _We’ll start this easy, my ass_. Brendon’s smile burns and he covers it with a full-body shrug.

“I mean, every song pretty much changes the second it’s given to an audience,” he says. Distracting, deflecting, dragging Bryan’s eyes away from the subject. “I’d honestly say that, whatever a song may mean to me at first, it’s ultimately the listeners that choose the final form. By picking apart lyrics and really giving their all into trying to understand it, they make it mean something new to me. It was the same process here.”

“And do you have any way to describe how it changed?” Bryan asks it so innocently that Brendon can’t blame him for the deeper dig into the discussion. “Like, if you had to compare the ‘final form’, so to speak, against the original thought you had of it, what would it be?”

_A reminder to people about why they loved him; a new reason to hate me._

“I originally wanted to honor Patrick.” That. Brendon can say that. “The song, to me, was a look back at this guy that I always admired in some sense. He’s brilliant and super nice and I really saw a lot of that when we used to work on that demo. So the original thought was just a feeling that, yeah, that’s the Patrick I know.”

“As opposed to the one now being created by rumors and haters online.”

“... You can say that, yeah.”

“Well, that’s sweet.” Bryan taps his fingers against his mic; the camera shifts again. “And then the final form?”

“Dude, that’s not up to me to decide.” If Brendon says it with a smile, they can’t catch the frustration underneath. “That’s all up to the fans.”

Bryan does the kind of laugh that means he hasn’t gotten what he wanted. He moves on anyway, lifting up his phone and unlocking it with a quick swipe across the screen.

“Fair enough,” he says. “Onto Twitter, then. Now, we had people using ‘hashtag Brendon on Popsound’ to send in their thoughts throughout the week. If you wanna just scroll through that, we have time for a few fan questions.”

“Sounds awesome.” Brendon’s not shaking when he takes the phone; he’s been in the game long enough to know when he should really be afraid and what’s worth being afraid of. Uncertainty isn’t fear so he refuses to act like it is. “Oh, damn, you’ve got a lot of them, don’t you?”

“You don’t need to go through them all. Just pick a few favorites and we’ll have some fun with that,” Bryan offers, an amused tone beneath each word. “What about the first one? What’s that say?”

“Oh, yeah, alright.” Brendon puts on a silly voice, already imagining how the fan will edit the video to have it on loop for hours. “Cors—”

Just as quickly as he began, Brendon cuts off.

 

 **Corsin Clare** _@culturescall_

You’ve always sounded so much like Patrick. With some editing, one might even consider your voices identical. But you’d never do that, would you, Brendon?

 

Cold ice and chilly thoughts fit around his skin, press into his clothes and arms like an embrace from the man who’s always had control. Frozen, on camera, Brendon’s vision blurs. He’s still, stuck while the world continues to twist around him. He can’t keep up, can’t catch his breath, and all he hears is the next thing Sin would say: _It’s good to know the band still has you if he ever goes away._

“Brendon? You good, man?” Bryan’s voice is all it takes to rip Brendon out of his own head, tapping at his skull with false concern. “You cut off there.”

Brendon’s heart pounds and he’s still not certain if he’s breathing right. He blinks, finding Bryan’s eyes, and tries to smile; he can feel it failing to stick to his face.

“Sorry, the thing refreshed,” he says, tugging down on the screen to bring some truth to his words. “Oh, don’t you hate when that happens?” Bryan scoots to the edge of his seat, leaning over to glance at the phone. “There’s quite a focus on the demo and Patrick, isn’t there? Sorry about that, didn’t _want_ to make you worry about your friend.”

“It’s fine,” Brendon says with a swallow, looking up into Bryan’s eyes. The camera shifts; Brendon wonders who’s watching him though he already knows. “I understand.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“So, it looks like Sophie up on top has a fun question for you.”_

_“Oh, yeah. Okay, Sophie Trent said ‘what’s your favorite accent to—”_

Pete shuts off the stream and sets his phone face down on the table, the portable charger clunking as it settles against the surface. He’d been tempted to send in his own question with the tag— as a joke, as a tease, as a cry for help— but something in Brendon’s expression had him changing his mind at the last second.

He saw something. Pete knows he did. But Pete’s not sure if wants to know what.

The waiter returns with his coffee, saying nothing as he sets it down at the table. Pete sighs loudly if only to give himself something to hear. He had given up on calling Joe after the fourth voicemail but he hasn’t given up on Patrick. He’s working his way back to Joe’s place, stopping at every location that the forums and sites have said Patrick’s been.

This cheap diner isn’t exactly somewhere Pete would consider Patrick to go but showing up and looking around is easier than saying that the “sighting” picture was nothing more than a crappy edit.

When Pete takes a sip of his coffee, it might as well be cold. He doesn’t taste it, doesn’t feel it, and he can only hope the caffeine will take effect regardless.

His phone buzzes as he sets the mug back down, vibrating the whole table. He sinks back against the booth seat, not wanting to see the notification this time. He doesn’t waste energy hoping for Joe or Andy to have changed their minds; Joe’s ignored him and all of Andy’s responses have been too vague to remember. Brendon’s in an interview and Pete bites down the traitorous thought that says _maybe it’s him this time, maybe it’s—-_

Just another alert from the police, updating the Twitter page Pete’s turned the notifications on for. It’s nothing of use to him, a report that says people don’t need to worry about the shady man wandering from neighborhood to neighborhood. He’s part of a case, they say; he’s part of their force.

Pete teases his own fantasies like a cat with a string, lazily imagining if the man’s looking for Patrick; if the man is Patrick and the police are continuing to play their game of keeping everyone in the dark. It’s not the first time Pete’s lost faith in authority but it is the first time it’s mattered so greatly.

God. Everything would be so much easier if only Patrick was still around.

And that’s this thing Pete keeps doing, this thing he hates about himself. He acts like a widower, lamenting his lost love, and he mourns though there’s no corpse or grave to be found. Every thought about Patrick is caught in grainy black and white stills, flickering and glitching as if Pete’s to accept that this is all he’ll ever have. Regrets and things left unsaid, fights and the memory of Patrick’s face as he left.

Well. Not quite. Because Pete still has his pictures even if he doesn’t have much hope.

Hope is like a lie, Pete’s found. It’s easy to say the first few times, easy to believe. But if you don’t keep reminding yourself that it’s there, don’t feel certain in its strength, then it fizzles away and you’re left with nothing but your own mistakes.

Mistakes. That’s all Pete can think of as he clears his notifications and stares at Patrick’s face on his screen. He’d thought of changing it, just once, in the days where he’d rather die than wake up to a life without Patrick. The backstage pic of him and someone who’s gone, a reminder of where he should be. Pete’s always felt certain he was meant to be by Patrick’s side.

Did Patrick never feel the same way?

And Pete doesn’t agree with victim-blaming but he’s not so sure that’s what this is. Because if Patrick could visit Joe, why couldn’t he come to Pete? Why couldn’t things work out the way Pete had been dreaming of since the day he found Patrick gone— magical, perfect, happily ever after? Is this punishment for the fight? Is it the universe telling him he doesn’t deserve Patrick? Is it insanity, a nightmare, a neverending journey of searching for someone who doesn’t wish to be found by him?

Pete wraps his hands tighter around the phone, staring at the screen until it goes dark and shows nothing but his exhaustion staring back. In his mind, all he hears is Patrick. Patrick’s laugh. Patrick’s singing. Patrick’s voice saying his name like a gunshot Pete should have heard before—

Patrick.

Pete jumps to his feet, dishes clattering against the table as he stumbles out of the booth and stares out the window. Past the door, down the sidewalk, he sees someone with a comfortable green coat. Fitted, an olive shade, hugging broad shoulders and—

Patrick.

Pete’s running even as the waitstaff calls for him, even as patrons panic and insult the lunatic racing out the door. He trips over his own feet, swearing and gasping and fumbling like a fool as he sprints after the man disappearing into the crowd. Not again, _not again._ Pete refuses to lose him again— he’s certain he’ll die if he does.

He tries to call out but the need for breath covers his voice in panting gags and desperation. It makes sense, the silence; he hasn’t been able to say Patrick’s name without it burning him with the reminder that Patrick’s not here to hear it. Now, so close, he can’t say his name, at all.

“Wait!” He shouts once he catches a glimpse of the green again. People turn and stare; they always do. But this time, at least, they have a reason; they have a show, a romantic reunion Pete can’t wait to remember years after this is put behind them. “Wait, please!”

Maybe it’s the broken sob that has him turning around, stopping short with concern in every action. Maybe it’s the request, the pleading words; maybe it’s Pete’s voice.

Pete stops in the sidewalk, people moving around them once again.

It doesn’t matter what it was, though.

Because, when he turns around, this man isn’t Patrick.

He doesn’t even look like him and Pete can see that now that he’s— what? Closer? Out of his delusion? His right hand curls into a fist, nails cutting into his palm.

“A-Are you alright?” The stranger asks. He’s too tall, too blonde, too willing to speak with Pete. “Can I help you with something?”

“No. No, that’s okay,” Pete forces himself to say after a heavy pause. He’s already backing away, heat filling his cheeks. “Sorry. I just thought you were someone else.”

_I just saw what I wanted to see— because that’s easier than admitting I’m insane_

The walk back to the diner is a humiliating one, even if no one knows why it was he ran. People who saw him racing down the pavement give him dirty looks and curious whispers and Pete knows it’s no more than he deserves. With his luck, he’ll be kicked out for skipping the bill; with his luck, his phone will be gone and all his favorite pictures of Patrick will be with it.

But when he gets to his original table, the phone’s still there. Steam curls up out of his coffee mug and a poppyseed muffin rests comfortably next to it.

Pete doesn’t sit, choosing instead to stare blankly at the table until his waiter walks by.

“Is everything okay, sir?” The young boy asks. Pete begins to nod and then thinks better of it, turning the action into a shrug.

“Did you give the table to someone else?” He asks, still looking down at the heated mug of coffee. “I can go, I didn’t need to be here much longer, anyway.”

“Oh, no,” the waiter says, shifting his tray of food to another hand. “Another guy actually ordered that for you. He left just a bit after you did— maybe you saw him? Guy in the back corner? Thick glasses and a hoodie? He seemed a bit worried, said to tell you to take better care of yourself.”

Pete’s mouth is already dry before the waiter’s done speaking; every part of his body goes numb but for sickening nausea crawling through his stomach and throat.

“Did he give you a name?” He asks. He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know what he’ll do if—

“You know, I asked,” the waiter says with a simple smile. “He just said to call him Lunchbox. It sounds strange but… does it mean anything to you?”

Pete’s phone buzzes with another notification; behind the alert, his eyes fall on the picture of Patrick.

“Of course,” he says, amazed he still has the ability to speak. “It means everything in the world.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 8_

 

 

[Men’s Light Weight Bomber Flight Jacket](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/72/d8/4e/72d84eb6b66c05d45a6225857d6f6fcd.jpg)

one day ago

 

 

$400

 

Lightly used

Excellent condition

Pretty sure that missing guy gave it to me? ([Patrick Stump](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fd/ad/be/fdadbee6825aa2faeba922fc1133f467.jpg))

Serious inquiries only!!!!!!!

* * *

 

The worst part about getting changed in a gas station bathroom is the nostalgia. The sticky floors and stalls that won’t stay quite shut, the scent of whoever was in here last and the buzzing sound of the lights— they’re all experiences Patrick thought he was able to leave behind when the van finally got traded out for a tour bus. Of course, it’s not like he never had to deal with gas stops ever again but there’s a bit of a difference between rushing into one in the middle of a drive and changing in one.

He knew his path would include challenges and sacrifices but focusing on the ones to come doesn’t make this any easier. Especially considering that this one is a minor hindrance at best.

The mirror glints at him as he looks up, a scowl instantly covering his features as the unflattering bathroom lights make his skin seem grey and lifeless, the healing wound a more violent shade than it needs to be. On the cracked bathroom mirror, he looks dead already.

So he looks away. No need to face that now.

Instead, he thinks of how Joe and Andy had looked at him when he finally explained what he’s done. The secrets he’s collected and shared to save his own pride; the lies he’s manufactured for his own gain.

 _“The Culture asked me to give frequents updates on all of you,”_ he’d said on that couch, still and unmoving as if the trust he was breaking was tangible and one wrong move could send the whole thing shattering. A crack across the mirror of their friendship; could seven years of bad luck ruin decade they shared before that? “ _Phone numbers, emails, any sort of secrets you might have shared. They wanted to be able to keep track of you.”_

 _“You mean they wanted to spy on us_ .” Andy had caught on in a matter of seconds, his face flushed pink as it all processed in his mind. _“And you helped them.”_

 _“Yes.”_ One word, that’s all Patrick needed to say.

He told them of how he’s done it for years now, ever since the band was back at his request. The price of his greed, his soul served up next to his best friends’ privacy. He knew that The Culture had their ways, would be listening to every conversation and reading every email, but he handed it over anyway. He told them this without a waver in his voice, even as he saw the hurt and betrayal multiplying in their eyes.

Of course, he didn’t tell them of how this was all in exchange for their membership, how The Culture wanted the entire band on their side and Patrick couldn’t give in. He didn’t explain how he begged for another choice, a way to keep their hands clean by dirtying his own. He didn’t say that this was the cost of their ignorance, their freedom from becoming like him.

Something like that would only sound like an excuse and Patrick knows they deserved better.

 _“And what did you do to Pete?”_ Joe’s question was nearly better than Andy’s response, a salted prod into one of Patrick’s deepest wounds.

And Patrick’s answer was the most honest yet. _“I ruined his life and he doesn’t even know it.”_

When he had finally left, it wasn’t because either of them told him to leave as he expected they would. It was because he beat them to it, saying he’d go, and none of them asked him to stay.

Perhaps that’s part of the constant ache he’s felt in his chest since leaving, this hollowness so deep it tangles his veins. He’s felt it forming like a bruise, like an infection, and he’s scared that there’s no way to make it stop. Something fatal, something horrid.

Something wicked, just like him.

Patrick tugs on the shirt Joe still somehow let him take, a plain black long sleeve that does nothing for his shape. It’s not like what he’d wear on his own, though, and that’s all he needs. Paired with a dull blue cap and loose grey jeans, he feels comfortable in his uncomfortableness. He shrugs, trying to get the clothes to fit around his shoulders a bit more, but gives up when it only causes the shirt to ride up his stomach once again.

Nostalgia as he tugs the shirt down with an irritated huff. Nostalgia as he adjusts the hat over hair that’s grown out since tour, tickling the base of his neck and the top of his ears. If he were just a few inches shorter and a few shades redder, he could possibly pass as his younger self. For now, though, he’s content to know he appears as nothing more than a lookalike.

He runs his hands through his hair one last time, adjusting the front so it covers a majority of the cut that won’t seem to heal. He doesn’t want to depend on a “disguise” but Joe had insisted— at least, he had before he knew what Patrick had done.

The letter should buy him some time as police figure out what to do with it. He had been hoping they’d be stupid enough to go to the press and his family could confirm that the handwriting was real but it’s been nothing but silence from the station so far. Evidence that he’s fine would give police reason to write it off as a misunderstanding, a runaway case with no reason to bring him back, but it seems The Culture’s claws go deeper than even Patrick planned for. It’s only fair, he supposes; the cops are just trying to make sure they stay safe, too. And if that means ruling out all leads and telling everyone he’s dead, then, well…

The door swings open and someone walks in, mumbling to themself about an argument following them from their car.

Patrick lifts his bag and rushes out before the door’s fully closed, the scene of his confession still playing in his mind.

 _“Why did you do it?”_ Andy asked. “ _Why would you ever…”_

 _“I was selfish_ ,” Patrick said. _“I still am.”_

 _“And you said you had some plan?”_ Joe asked. _“You said you knew how this was going to end?”_

 _“I do and I can tell you,”_ Patrick said. _“It has to end the same way everything does.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 9_

**ijotroh**

 

> Me vs not refreshing the FOB drama and discourse and shipwar tags every hour
> 
> _#im a heathen i know #but its the best thing since petes leaks lmao #omg the fandom would just explode if that happened again imagine #ummm no disrespect to patrick or the band with any of this btw #drama #fob drama_

**84 notes**

 

 

 

 

**notpeterwentz**

 

> It’s 2019 and ppl are still following cancel culture without checking their facts???? Can’t relate
> 
> _#that….. 150k+ note patrick call out post made me sick #and the fact that they had the audacity to use the missing patrick tag #instant block #imagine being so horrible #ughhhh #its on twitter too i wanna cryyyyy #patrick better not come back if thats the welcome hes gonna get #i kno ill get hate for that comment but it tru #boy probably just ran off to find a universe that deserves him #and i for one #am all for it_

**43 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

 **LAPD HQ** _@LAPDHQ_

UPDATE: The letter supposedly penned and delivered by missing person, Patrick Stumph, has been deemed a fake by the LAPD Headquarters in Downtown LA. The search for Stumph will continue. Please contact us with any information you may have.

**LAPD HQ** _@LAPDHQ_

UPDATE: Joseph Trohman, a friend of Patrick Stumph’s and the one who originally found the letter, has been taken in for questioning.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_February 10_

 

Pete leans back on the hood of his car, free to do so in the night air of the emptied rest stop he pulled into an hour or so ago. Then, families on vacation and couples in love had been scattered across the picnic tables and grass like participants in a classic painting, lounging and laughing and enjoying the gift of being alive. Pete had been among them, smiling but not meaning it whenever someone glanced his way. When the sky finally grew dark with a deep blue shade and the threat of bugs in the trees had scared off the visitors, he finally withdrew to his car and sat upon the hood.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for when he gazes up into the stars. He’s already tried begging the universe for answers, already tried to sell his soul for Patrick’s but his cries fell on deaf ears. Maybe the stars really are just dust and science. Maybe his wishes are just words.

But his words are magic when they’re with Patrick. They’re music and Patrick took that with him when he left. And Pete knows Patrick left, just as certainly as he knows Joe had him. Pete may not trust the police but he does trust that there has to be a reason they called Joe in. The possibilities make Pete’s stomach turn as he envisions every dystopia world he’s witnessed on the big screen in the past few years. He makes a note to call Joe once he gets the chance.

As if answering this wish and this one, his phone buzzes in his hand. For a moment, in the serenity and stillness of night, he entertains himself with the idea of it being the Recording Academy asking where he is. God knows no one was really happy with their decision not to attend but Pete knew it was better than any other alternative. Whenever he wished to win a Grammy, it was always with the added request for Patrick to be at his side. Because, he knows, Patrick would be the reason they won.

Still, Pete checks his phone and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Another alert from the police, saying Joe had gone home after imparting some “useful insight” into the case. They can’t say much but, Pete reads, they’ll be reducing their urgency of the case until they have proof that Patrick’s actually alive.

And Pete’s already seeing red.

It’s an excuse; it has to be. He drops his phone back to the side, ignoring how it slides off the car and to the pavement below.

“Useless fucking fuckers,” he grumbles, kicking himself up only because he needs something to do with the enraged energy building up in his veins. His hands fidget at his sides and, this time, it’s not because he’s trying to reach for Patrick in vain. “I’ll find him without them and I’ll find him alive and—”

He turns to kick the car, crying out as pain shoots up his toes. It’s a sharp ache, sharp enough he’s certain they’ve all broken. Still, when the pain settles, he lashes out again. He’s not quite sure who he’s trying to hurt when he does it this time.

It’s not that he trusted the police from the very beginning; there’s a reason he didn’t go to them first. Patrick had always hinted that he thought the force was corrupt and, silly as it had seemed at the time, pairing it with his cult involvement didn’t make it seem so far-fetched. Still, Pete had eventually bitten back his reservations and begged for help.

And all he gets is the response that they want to say Patrick’s dead. It’s an insult in the worst way, an attack on his already beaten and battered heart. He can’t even think the words without trembling, can’t face the thought without wanting to tear his skin from his bones. Maybe then he could find the part that belongs to Patrick, the part embedded in his soul and keeping him so hopelessly devoted, obsessed, broken. Because Pete loves Patrick but love isn’t supposed to do this.

Pete had thought that Patrick leaving him because he hated him was the worst case scenario. But he would take that over a grave any day.

Somewhere in his mind, he taunts himself because that’s the only thing he’s good at when Patrick’s not around to stop it. What if he’s imagining this police corruption just to settle his own fears about Patrick’s fate? What if he’s blind? What if he’s stupid? What if he’s as crazy as everyone always said?

What if Patrick’s gone and no adventure or journey or conspiracy theory will change it?

Pete kicks the car again, screaming as he does so. If that’s the case, then he’s here for no reason. Here— in this rest stop. Here— on his search.

Here— alive, on this planet.

He knows it’s dramatic and he knows he has a dozen other reasons to live, a dozen other people who love him and who he loves back. But Pete once told himself he couldn’t take another heartbreak. And Patrick had promised he wouldn’t have to.

So where is Patrick now? Where’s Pete’s reason to believe his heart can safely belong to someone else, someone who won’t hurt him the way the rest of the world has? Patrick was his sure thing, his safe place, his escape from the hate that Pete always seems to see. And when Patrick left, it was like like opening his eyes and seeing every wound reopen.

Pete thinks back to the fight. He thinks back to everything he said, how easily he turned on Patrick in anger and accusation. And he realizes— maybe he broke their promise first.

When Pete attacks this time, it’s with his fists. It’s with a dent of metal beneath them and the screaming pain that comes with fractures and breaks.

It’s still nowhere near enough but it soothes the ache in his chest; it makes him forget that there’s another reason to be screaming at the world.

He raises his fists again but pauses when the shadows beside him shift. He turns, hands still lifted in defense and attack.

“Who are—”

“What have I told you about lashing out like that?”

For a moment, just a second, Pete can’t place the voice because he can’t believe it’s here.

For so long, he’s been imagining fights and broken sounds— not this gentleness, not this soft approach he’ll never deserve. But then the voice is nothing but pain, nothing but a vice around his throat and iron in his chest as the figure emerges from the dark and into the light.

His eyes and his mind scramble to make sense of the scene, piecing together small details as if this can prove the whole. But then it all stops and Pete answers the air with a shuddering breath— and only a shuddering breath.

“You.”

“Hey,” Patrick says, coming to a stop before Pete. He’s different but still the same, ashamed but so strikingly certain. There’s a stupid hat in his hands and a familiar blush on his cheeks, his eyes as hesitant as they were the first time they kissed. And he’s here. God, he’s _here_. “It’s good to see you.”

Pete raises a hand, half-suffocating as he rests it lightly against Patrick’s cheek for no other reason than to know he can. And when he feels soft skin beneath sore knuckles, when he feels warmth and movement and life, he waits for the world to wake him because not even his dreams let him get this far.

“You’re real,” he whispers, his throat already aching with the sobs tying it into knots. “You’re… You’re…”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, turning his head to catch the side of Pete’s hand with a kiss. “I’m here.”

So this is what it feels like to break. This is what it means to fall apart.

Pete didn’t cry when he found out Patrick was gone. He didn’t sob when every lead came up empty.

But, here, with Patrick before him? It’s like his heart has realized it’s safe to give into emotions once again, freeing itself from every wall and yearning with every vulnerability as it reaches out for the one person who could ever hold it without bringing damage.

“Oh god,” Pete sobs, tears filling his eyes and blurring Patrick. But even through the haze, Pete stills knows him. He still sees him and feels him and he falls forward with arms around Patrick’s neck and desperate sobs into his shirt. “Oh god, Patrick, god, I needed you. I missed you. I was going crazy, don’t ever do that again. Promise me you won’t do that again. Promise you won’t leave me alone.”

His voice is a ramble of words so quick he wouldn’t blame Patrick for ignoring them. They spill from his mouth endlessly, every 11:11 wish he’s had since the disappearance and every star finally coming through as Patrick wraps his arms around him, too. Safe. Tight. Familiar and oh so Patrick.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here and I”m sorry.” There’s something damp at Pete’s collar, too, when Patrick leans into him. There’s a tremor in Patrick’s voice, a certain wound healing as they press close together. “I’m so sorry and I promise, you hear me? I promise I won’t leave you again.”

_I promise._

For the first time in weeks, Pete feels himself breathe. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, in time with Patrick’s as Pete digs his fingers in and tries to meld them together, as if he can force Patrick to stay at his side.

But, as Patrick presses kisses to his neck and sinks tears into his skin, Pete realizes he doesn’t have to.

“I promise,” Patrick says over and over like he means _I love you_ in every word. “I promise, Pete, I promise you won’t be alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Recording Acadamy / GRAMMYs** _@RecordingAcad_

Congratulations to Best Rock Album winner - @falloutboy ‘MANIA’ #GRAMMYs

 

 **Recording Acadamy / GRAMMYs** _@RecordingAcad_

Though the band was not present to receive their award, we wish @[falloutboy](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4fc389c418c084ff9bde0afeabb2034c/tumblr_inline_o1hyu6uTwb1qg8umb_1280.png) the best in these troubling times…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:
> 
> 1\. Did you get the easter eggs? Did you like them? Something small, sure, but I thought it would make it just a bit more fun for you :) If you didn't see them... try to click some links ;)
> 
> 2\. I don't know if that's the actual jacket, okay, I just needed something that looked close. Also. It took me so long to find a pic of Patrick in that jacket, I was going to cry
> 
> 3\. I went through an entire box of off-brand thin mints while editing and formatting this. It's not important that you know that but I still thought it would be fun to share.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and thank you to everyone who continues to comment. You make my world shine. (it's late. can you tell?)
> 
> Anyway, share some thoughts and feel certain that I love you. Have an amazing day/night!


	5. February 12 - February 23 (My Head Just Went Oblivion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick never came home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a few hours late? I don't know, I'm starting the editing process at 10pm so... we'll see.
> 
> I had to cute a few planned scenes from this chapter since it was getting pretty long so maybe I'll make an outtakes part in the future. Haha, we'll see what people are interested in :)
> 
> Anyway, no more time to waste! On to the fic!
> 
> <><><>
> 
> Playlist:  
> \- Battle Scars by Paradise Fears  
> \- No Place Like Home by Todrick Hall  
> \- Trust by Boy Epic  
> \- I've Been Waiting by Lil Peep, ILoveMakonnen, Fall Out Boy

 

_February 2012_

 

_When they come, they come like shadows._

_It’s in the back of some nameless bar, some nameless musician nursing some nameless drink. Patrick resigned himself to the idea of being so anonymous, so worthless, hours after sending off a bitter-tasting blog post naming himself such but, still. Seeing it so plainly hurts._

_He tosses back his drink, shuddering into the warmth as it burns down his spine. He barely tastes what was in his glass as he raises it and gestures for the bartender to fill it again. After this, he’ll drunkenly call one of his friends and cry about his pathetic life; then he remembers he left his phone at home for precisely that reason. Brilliant._

_The bartender fills the drink to the top. Patrick raises it to his lips again._

_“Life sucks but at least the solutions are nice,” he says to himself once he’s done, wiping the lingering remnants of the drink from his upper lip. He had hoped he was speaking to the bartender, a nice looking man with a familiar shade of brown in his eyes, but he’s gone when Patrick looks up. Patrick smiles sharply, the edges of his own grin digging deeply into his cheeks. What a wonderful example of how far he’s fallen— he can’t even keep the company of someone who’s known to listen. He taps his fingers against the glass, relying on the clinking sound to remind himself he’s still real. “I’m gonna need so much more than this.”_

_He looks to return to his drink but not before he’s bookended, not before two men in suits take confident seats beside him. One dressed in grey; one dressed in blue; both terribly certain in the way they look at each other and then at him._

_“Agreed,” the one in grey seems to say in response to Patrick’s words as if picking up a script and following the conversation Patrick planned on having with himself. “Perhaps not to your latter statement, no, but the first— yes, life’s solutions are rather enjoyable, aren’t they? So many opportunities to be taken, so many more plans set in motion just for you. Life tries to be a solution in itself but it’s up to us to make sense of it. And those who don’t— drink. Mind you, I don’t mean to offer all this as fact but rather as… companionship. Something for you to ponder in the times when you are alone and, well, as we have been informed, you are alone.”_

_“I’m sorry, are you looking for someone else?” Patrick asks, his words slow and stuttered by the alcohol he’s allowed into his veins. He blinks, head on a swivel as he looks back and forth between the two. “Or are you… Are you making fun of me?”_

_“But that implies there’s anything to make fun of,” Grey continues, a smile toying on the side of his mouth as he eyes the condensation against Patrick’s glass, against Patrick’s skin as he tightens his grip on the drink. “No, no, we simply pity you, Patrick. Your work has been dragged through the mud and you thought that, maybe, writing some scathing self-pitying blog would tell them off but those who’ve read your defeat are only satisfied they’ve done so well. Not to mention your friends— good god! Would you believe it if we said we were sent by one of them?”_

_“Come now,” Blue says with a half-smile of his own. “Be kind. You can always tease him later, after all.”_

_Patrick’s teeth ache in his mouth as he grits them together, his head spinning from the words spilling into his ears. When Blue brushes a hand against his elbow, Patrick pulls away with a hissing breath, curling his shoulders towards himself as if to disappear from sight entirely._

_“What’s your point?” He asks. “If you’re just here to make fun, there are—”_

_“Didn’t we already say that’s not our point?” Blue asks, swiping his finger across the bar as if searching for dust. Finding none, he turns his discerning gaze on Patrick. “No, we’re here to offer our help.”_

_Patrick’s eyes narrow and he draws back, uncaring if he falls off the stool in the process. What had they said about being sent by a friend? Shit, did his brother go through with his last threat? Patrick chills._

_“Are you, like, doctors or something?” He peers around the men, expecting to see a straight jacket hidden behind their backs. “Look, uh, my brother can be dramatic and, well, I guess I can be, too. But that post wasn’t actually a cry for help. I’m fine, I’m—”_

_“We’re not doctors,” Grey says, laughing lowly. “And you’re not fine.”_

_Cut off, Patrick shuts his mouth. For once, he’s silent. He writes his questions, his concerns, with his eyes and the two strangers read it clearly._

_“We want to help you. In any way we can,” Blue says, leaning closer with a shard of something sharp in his words. “You want your music back on the charts? Give us a week. Want a feature on some legend’s upcoming album? Give us a day. Hell, you want a Grammy? Give us your word and you’ll have it before the next song’s done.”_

_“Yeah? And what would you want in return?” It’s the wrong question to ask, the wrong road to take, but Patrick’s drunk and he’s sore down to the dust in his soul, aching for a way out. And their words sound inviting; their ideas, however impossible, sound tempting._

_They smile, hellhounds sniffing out their prey._

_“You’re a celebrity of some sort. We’d simply ask that you allow us to use that to our advantage,” Grey says. Patrick tenses, the shining promise of their past offer dulling a bit in the face of its cost._

_“I’m not going to pretend I believe in something I don’t,” he says, sinking back into his despair. “This is an agenda thing, isn’t it? You want me to promote some backward idea that’ll make people hate me.”_

_“On the contrary, we want people to love you,” Blue says. Still smiling, still trying to sell something Patrick can’t quite see. “We want people to trust you. Collect some information for us and you can have anything your pretty little heart desires.”_

_Patrick’s heart is in his mouth and he swallows it down, looking away. “Anything?”_

_He hears the smiles in their voices when they say together, “Anything.”_

_Patrick’s breath pauses and the world stops with it, only him and these two messengers from hell trying to drag his soul free from his body. Nothing is worth his morality, he thinks. Nothing is worth his goodness._

_Nothing but—_

_“Could you- Could you get my band back together?” His voice is small, pained, and he can’t bear to look up as he flushes at his own pathetic request. He drops his hands from the glass, fidgeting and pulling on his fingers as if to distract from the one thing he’s wanted since posting that blog. “I… I just miss them, you know, and I know we could do better if we got the chance to try again. You wouldn’t need to, like, do any of that other stuff— the awards and charts and all. I just… I just want to see my friends again. That’s what I want.”_

_His voice is shattered glass climbing up his throat, tangling against the knot that forms whenever he thinks of how long it’s been since he’s seen the people who matter most. His best friends, his family, the people he knows he can love and trust. He’s tried reaching out but it never works, his fears or a voicemail responding more often than not._

_If these men can do what they claim— Grammys and number one albums— then, surely, they can do this._

_When Patrick looks up, their smiles are endeared— a schoolteacher listening to a child describe their fantastic dream._

_“And if we get you your band, will you do whatever we need?” Grey asks, shark teeth and snake eyes._

_Patrick is all fragile smiles and delicate eyes when he nods, a windchime waiting for a storm. “More than that— I’ll do whatever you want.”_

 

 

 

_December 2014_

_It still doesn’t feel real. It still doesn’t feel deserved._

_Backstage at some KROQ Christmas show, Patrick shudders in his jacket and watches as the rest of his band— his band, his band, his band— jokes about the album on the way._ American Beauty/American Psycho _they want to call it, taken from one of the songs Patrick likes most._

_Patrick had been more on board for the name than he’d been in years, chuckling and nodding when Pete had suggested it. It seemed fitting, after all._

_It didn’t take The Culture long after that fateful meeting to get the band back together, pulling heartstrings and slinging manipulations around. They never did tell Patrick how they did it but he’s been able to piece it together after hearing everyone’s reasons for suddenly calling and discussing the idea of the band getting back together._

_“I know what you need,” Pete had said in the middle of a lengthy phone call where Patrick tried to figure out why Pete was so certain the simple blog post was a suicide note. “You need your band.”_

_Others followed, their projects suddenly trailing off into nothingness as shadows whispered that Patrick was alone, that Patrick was scared, that Patrick was going to die without their help. In any other life, Patrick might have felt ashamed or embarrassed by the blatant lies spread to his best friends but it worked and no one got hurt._

_“Yo, earth to Patrick,” Pete cuts in through his thoughts, smiling gently from where he’s leaning against the wall, all leather pants and newly bleached hair. “All good over there?”_

_“Yeah,” Patrick says, smiling back with a soft shake of his head. “Of course.”_

_Pete’s grin lingers on Patrick’s face, warm and certain like the sun. He’s been gentler with Patrick, more so than he’s ever been before, remnants of that rumor resting in him like shrapnel from some grand explosion. He panicked when he heard the news, Patrick heard from close friends and Pete’s family; he was certain it was his fault._

_So maybe Patrick feels a little guilty for that but it wasn’t really his idea. He hadn’t known what The Culture would do, what they would say to draw everyone back to Patrick’s side. He never posted his thoughts with the intent of terrifying his friends; it’s not his fault if The Culture used it in such a horrible way._

_Still, it’s easy to bear with the guilt when he remembers what people had told him of Pete, of how he downward spiraled, too. What Patrick did was for the best and, besides, there are no lasting consequences of the brief belief that he was so depressed._

_“Just let us know if you’re stuck on a new song idea or something,” Andy says, refusing to let Patrick zone out too deeply. “I don’t think they’ll let us shove another one into the album so late but we can still work on something if it’s bothering you. Besides, I’m always up for an impromptu writing session.”_

_“Sorry, guys. No songs today.” Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, Patrick glances fondly at the band gathered around the room. His eyes sting at the sight, a habit he’s gained since being gifted this second chance, and he swallows down the delirious laughter building in the base of his throat. He takes a calming breath, easing his elation into a simple smile. “And don’t pretend you aren’t relieved to hear that. You say you like writing sessions now but just wait until we’re in the studio again. I don’t know how I survived the meltdowns during Save Rock and Roll.”_

_“Because you love us,” Joe says in a singsong voice, laughing goofily as he makes hearts at Patrick with his hands._

_Patrick laughs, as well, reveling in the friendships surrounding him. “And that love will be the death of me, I swear.”_

_“Well, that’s paradoxical,” Pete says, rolling his eyes even as a warning plays out in his voice. Don’t go that route, it tells Patrick, don't joke about that. “Surviving because you love us but then saying that love will be your downfall. You’ve gotta pick one or the other or else you’ll just end up in trouble.”_

_“Shit, only you would turn a joke into a life philosophy,” Joe breathes out after a second passes, Pete’s words circling Patrick like an uncertain embrace. “Any other deep ponderings you wanna share before the show?”_

_“No, he’s fine. I get it,” Patrick says, eyes dropping from Joe to Pete as he speaks. “I don’t want you to think I don’t understand what you’re saying. I do. Probably more than you know.”_

_Something close to tension seeps into the room like a fog, silencing even their breaths as the four regard one another. Patrick thinks of something to say but this, too, is interrupted by the angry buzzing of his phone._

_His heart drops before he even looks to see who it is._

_“Shoot, sorry,” he says, glancing down at the screen with a twisting gut. “I need to step outside for a bit. I’ll be back before we’re on, promise.”_

_There are only a handful of protests as he leaves the room, each word fading into nothing as he reads the message left on his phone._

_TO PATRICK: We’ve noticed your lineup tonight. Some of the artists seem quite influential, don’t you think? Give them our number, if you like._

_‘If you like.’ Implying he has a choice, implying he has a way out. Patrick bites down hard on his inner cheek._

_Another soul to steal, another bargain to make. Does he look like Grey or Blue, he wonders, whenever he approaches whatever budding artist The Culture points him to? Something shadowy, something wrong, something with no good left to give._

_Patrick holds his breath as he deletes the text and pockets his phone once more, believing that doing so will keep the evil nature from entirely invading his soul. Even though he knows he won’t say no._

_Even though he knows he’s going to do exactly what they ask._

 

 

 

_August 2016_

_Years pass quickly when you’re in a cult but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Four years of secrets and lies and throwing himself before bullets no one else can see. He swore never to get his band involved, told Sin and his henchman that his prize was off limits, but, eventually, his red-faced bargains barely mean a thing. Now, Sin laughs and says that if Patrick won’t do it, someone else will._

_So Patrick helps someone evil spy on his friends but only because their ignorance is their bliss; better to be free and a fool than a slave with no soul._

_Of course, Patrick hasn’t told Sin everything. He’s kept a few selfish pieces to himself._

_Like how he finally got Pete to kiss him backstage before the show, a mess of lips and confessions and Patrick’s heart pounding like he’d been caught. Balanced above a cliff, Pete’s hands the only thing holding him up, Patrick had flown. They haven’t discussed yet what they are other than victims to a decade old crush but Patrick’s confident in his future. He’s made it this far, hasn’t he?_

_But he won’t make it much longer if Sin keeps staring over his shoulder. If Sin and his cult begin to ask about the information Patrick’s supposed to have on Pete. Patrick’s been doing his best to keep them from finding anything out but karma’s always one step behind him, a shadow he can never turn and face. One day, his sneaking around will have its price._

_So he needs to get out before then._

_Onstage, in the present, the opening chords to Novocaine start to play. Patrick blinks back into his body, back from wherever his mind had been, and steps in front of the microphone._

_Months ago, at that AT &T concert, Brendon had said something about them needing to take the song off the setlist, to forget it existed before Sin becomes too upset by the words. Patrick’s only thrown more passion into the performances since then. _

_Sin said he couldn’t talk about The Culture. Fine; he’ll talk about anything but them. It’s not often Pete lets Patrick have such control over lyrics but maybe he sensed, as Patrick did, that these words needed to get out. A culture destroyed and invaded by another, the feeling of being a freak suddenly cast into a dramatic role, the numbness that comes with each task he completes._

_But he hadn’t felt numb when Pete kissed him. He doesn’t feel numb now as he growls out words against those who have a claim on his soul._

_When he joined The Culture, it was to protect himself. Now, to protect Pete, he’ll leave it._

_He just needs time to plan out how._

 

 

_January 2018_

_Patrick thrashes in the grip Grey and Blue have on his arms, pinning him between them as he kicks at the ground like the petulant child he knows they see him as. “Are you fucking crazy? I’ve done my part for you for nearly six years. When was the last time you did anything for me? I’m done with this psychotic bullshit. I want out!”_

_Sin’s back is turned while Patrick shouts, playing around on one of the dozens of computer screens he keeps in his home. Or, well, this home. Patrick’s seen enough of Sin to know that he has residences across the world._

_When Sin finally faces Patrick, turning in his chair and rising slowly, Patrick pauses, heaving for breath but knowing his silence is really because of the man now looking upon him._

_“Don’t be so naive, Patrick,” Sin says, taking measured steps until he’s standing before him, looming over him like some grand structure impossible to tear down. He reaches to brush against Patrick’s cheek but Patrick turns his head sharply, feeling heat blossom beneath his skin. “You’re just desperate right now. That’s okay. Would it help if we gave you a break? We can wait until this album cycle is through.”_

_“Don’t treat me like a child. Don’t treat me like just another one of your workers. I have no obligation to you. I owe you nothing more,” Patrick snaps. The hands around his arms tighten, painfully so, but Patrick only flinches slightly. His eyes stay on Sin’s, unwilling to back down. He doesn’t want to make Sin an enemy, knows what it means if he does, but he doesn’t want to be under his control, either. It was one thing when all they did was watch Patrick and peer in at his friends but Patrick’s in a relationship now, a serious one, and he can’t risk them finding out. If they discover that he’s seeing Pete, if they think they can use that to their advantage, then—_

_“You made us a promise,” Sin says, tense though his words are sure. “More than that— you gave yourself entirely.”_

_Patrick goes limp in Grey and Blue’s grip, his own words echoing back at him as he remembers that he swore to “more than that— whatever you want.” Naive and stupid and so hopeful at the thought of a playdate with his friends; he had been the worst kind of fool and he’s paying for it now. Now, with Sin looking at him the way he first looked at him when Patrick was led into some secret room, trembling and terrified of what he’d agreed to do. It’s a look of self-satisfaction and authority, of a chess master considering whether to sacrifice or save a pawn; it’s a look that might mobilize armies into wars they don’t understand, a look that doesn’t care who dies in the process if it means the battle is won._

_And Patrick? In the past, Patrick’s eyes have only known surrender and the very sacrifice Sin’s considering now. His privacy, his time, his very heart served on a platter for Sin to judge. Never before has Patrick defied such a look._

_Never, until now._

_He lifts his chin. He stares back with as much arrogance as he can muster._

_“I want out,” he says again, each word stronger than the last. He shouts, he screams, he kicks. “I want out!”_

_And Sin frowns, gesturing for Grey and Blue to let Patrick go. They do so after some reluctance, stepping back as Patrick rubs at the bruises they’ve pressed into his skin. Ever since joining, his two assigned watchdogs have had a habit of manhandling him; he’s used to the pain that comes with the job. He moves to turn, to walk victoriously out the door, but stops when Sin calls out to him._

_“I don’t know why but I had hoped you would be smarter than this.” Sin’s back is turned once more, facing his computer as he loads up something new. He shudders out a breath, excited as Patrick narrows his eyes at the screen. “Really now. Did you believe we wouldn’t have something on you, too?”_

_They’re pixels, at first, blurry and meaningless. But then they come together into something clear; then the volume is up and Patrick hears his own voice, his own words. His very breath escapes him and he sees—_

_“Where did you get that?” He asks, feeling as if his guts have been torn out and laid before him. “I made sure no one saw, no one followed, I— Where did you get that?”_

_“Is that really what matters?” Sin moves to stand next to Patrick, watching the scene on his computer play out with some sadistic satisfaction. When he raises his hand to stroke the side of Patrick’s face, Patrick finds he no longer has the will to move. “Now, Patrick… Are you ready to behave?”_

 

* * *

 

 

_February 12, 2019_

“Wait, so the reason you’re hiding is that they have some shit on you?” Pete asks, breaking the silence that fell after Patrick completed his tale. He didn’t share every detail, every line that Pete feels he deserves to hear, but it’s easy to focus on forgiveness when he thinks of how terrible he felt when Patrick was gone. In the small motel room he rented out for them, he stares at Patrick and takes his hand. “I’ll help you steal it back. Do you have a plan? Is that why you came to me?”

“I came to you because I wanted to,” Patrick says, squeezing his hand with a reassuring smile. It’s kind, gentle, and Pete can’t imagine what was worth bloodying it with the cult he’s joined. Patrick didn’t share that part, didn’t say what he asked for in return, and Pete can only hope it’s been worth it. “I do have an idea but it doesn’t involve taking back any of the dirt they have on me. It wouldn’t be fair to the people they have exposed and, besides, I deserve it. I just—”

He trails off. He’s been doing that a lot since they’ve reunited.

“If you think you deserve whatever hell they’ve planned for you, you’re wrong. I was wrong when I fought you about it at the party. Sure, I’m upset you’ve been lying but… I just didn’t understand. I still don’t. Not completely.” Pete tries to comfort Patrick with the brush of his thumb across his knuckles; Patrick’s tension refuses to disappear. “I don’t want to push you— not now that I know what you’ve been through. But… Will you tell me? Someday? Will you tell me everything you aren’t telling me now?”

“If I made that promise, would you believe me?” Patrick pulls his hand away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed but then apparently remembering something, frowning and sitting on a chair instead. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

Though every fiber of his being calls out for Pete to follow Patrick— to touch him again, to prove that he’s here— he keeps still, considering the words. The past few days have been nothing but desperation and apologies, forgiveness for things unknown and kisses to lips that better know the taste of lies. Then, in the midst of relief and disbelief, Pete hadn’t known to question Patrick; he only knew he had him back.

That’s not to say his heart still doesn’t race whenever he wakes in the night and imagines he’ll find the other side of the bed empty. It’s not to say that every thought always forms Patrick’s name first, his mind and mouth a scratched record repeating it over and over again. _Patrick Patrick Patrick Patrick…_ He’s foaming at the mouth with Patrick’s name.

Across the room, Patrick hides his face in his hands. Exhausted. He’s been so exhausted ever since they met up again. Pete sighs, crossing the room to stand next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“What do you want to do?” Pete asks. “Don’t tell me you found me just because you felt like it. You’re here for a reason, a reason other than sentiment or… or…”

“Are you doubting my feelings for you next?” Patrick asks, looking up and, for once, sounding truly bitter. “Look, you can doubt whatever you like of me but don’t you ever dare believe that I don’t love you. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything I’ve done.”

A chill runs over Pete’s skin, hair raising at the implication that keeps coming— that there’s something more Patrick’s hiding. A secret with Pete involved; a secret with Pete at the very heart of it. He bites his lip, watching as Patrick turns away.

It’s not a question that’s worth asking right now.

“What then? We just let them destroy you?” Pete pulls his hand back, folding it into a fist as he stares at the wall. His voice breaks on the words, chipping on the very thought of someone hurting his Patrick. How weak is he, then, that he still fears for someone who’s proven to be terrifying? He takes a shuddering breath and focuses his gaze on Patrick once more. “I spent over a month preparing to mourn you. I won’t do it again.”

Though his voice is low, Patrick flinches like the accusation had been screamed. But, even after that, he does nothing. It’s the worst part of finding him, of being found by him— his silence. His ability to drift into his mind like the remnants of a wreck, Pete trying to call to him from a lifeboat that’s floating in the other direction. Pete doesn’t know what he thinks of in these moments, doesn’t know if he wants to hear the truth, but he does know they frighten him.

Brendon once said, years ago, that Patrick did this during the hiatus while they toured together. His mind drew him in from the outside world, shutting the door on those who knocked. It would happen at particularly bad shows, the ones that made it impossible to recall how he could have ever played to sold-out arenas or fans around the world. Nothing but silence, nothing but concern. Though Pete never saw it until now, it was an image that haunted him when he first read the blog post, when he first heard the scarier implications.

Had the cult gotten to Patrick before or after he fell so far? If Pete reached out sooner, would they still be here? It’s not worth thinking about but Pete does so anyway; the only person better at self-destructive silence is him.

They torture themselves in their thoughts for what feels like hours, what could be days. Then, just as Pete’s shaking from the memory of finding Patrick gone, just as he’s convincing himself he’s finally gone mad and made the last few days up, Patrick speaks.

“They’re going to release it no matter what,” he breathes, staring at his hands. “I have no control over that. Even if I knew where they’re keeping it, I’d never make it in time.”

“Then what’s the point?” Pete exclaims, stepping back so he can properly glare at Patrick. “What is this, then? A last goodbye before you disappear again? God, why do they care so much about what you do? Why do they need you so badly?”

Pete’s anger wells up from somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere locked away after the fight and trauma of having his boyfriend go missing. Confusion and desperation masked the feeling well for a while and then the joy of having Patrick back made him forget it. But neither could completely tear him away from the rage at having been left behind, left in the dark, left alone with nothing but his own insanity. And the worst part is that he knows Patrick knew this. He knew this and he still ran.

Patrick lifts his chin, still not looking at Pete but not looking as dejected as he had before. “I gave you my answers.”

No. The worst part is that this Patrick is nothing like the Patrick Pete knows. And, yet, this Patrick is everything like the Patrick Pete loves. Stubborn and hard-headed, too self-sacrificing for his own good. Pete’s hands shake as he reaches for Patrick but that’s nothing new; they haven’t stopped shaking since Patrick went missing.

“Patrick, please,” he says. “Stop pretending you don’t have some plan.”

Patrick’s eyes flitter, teasing Pete with the idea that they might meet his. “And you stop pretending to understand. Stop acting like I’m a stranger. I didn’t come back out of any twisted scheme; I came back because I missed you, because I _needed_ you. I came back because—”

He cuts off with a ragged breath and it’s then that Pete sees the shining dampness in his eyes. His own breath stutters in his throat and he grabs Patrick’s hands once more.

“Hey, hey, no,” he says, begging for Patrick to just look at him. “You’re right. I don’t understand. So explain it to me. Make me see it your way. Tell me why you did everything that you did and then we can figure it out from there.”

“I don’t know how—”

“Then show me. Let me help you stop this or, at least, minimize the damage,” Pete says, his words twisting halfway into sobs as he pleads. His own eyes burn but he doesn’t dare wipe the tears away, not if that means taking his hands away from Patrick. “I’m _scared_ , okay? I just want a reason not to be scared anymore.”

Patrick’s hands tighten around Pete’s.

“What if I can’t give you that reason?” Patrick whispers. He pulls on his hands like he wants to let go but both he and Pete hold on. “What if I’m just as scared as you are?”

“Then tell me why you’re scared, the way you always have. And I’ll find a way to fix it. I promised you I always would, didn’t I?” Pete asks slowly, afraid his words will dissolve into blubbering cries if he loses control. His vision blurs, fogs over, but he refuses to look away, to even blink as he waits for Patrick’s response. He knows Patrick’s taking his time on purpose, giving Pete a chance to back out and run away— he said as much before he began explaining his history with The Culture. But Pete stayed and he knew that by staying he was doing more than listening to a tale, he was making another oath. He was swearing to stay by Patrick’s side and if he can’t even do that then—

“Even this?” Patrick asks, so soft Pete barely hears. “Even when you learn what I’ve done, even when you see the worst sides of me… Will you love me through even this?”

Pete blinks once. When his vision clears, he sees that Patrick is finally looking up.

There’s no hope in Patrick’s eyes, no belief in what he’s saying, and Pete trembles at the sight. Terror and agony toy with each other in the blue and gold, streaking across Patrick’s features like a game of tag; his breaths are quick, shallow, scared. It’s the face of a man prepared for his own execution, a man who knows what sacrifices will be required in the days to come. But, more than that, his eyes hold every belief that Pete could not possibly love him, at all.

Pete doesn’t think of why that look is there. He doesn’t focus on what it could mean other than the fact that Patrick’s in pain.

He drops Patrick’s hands, ignoring the choked sound that follows the action. When he kneels at Patrick’s side, there are already tears gracing both of their cheeks.

Patrick’s next breath wracks through his entire being, as violent as a storm.

“Even this?” He asks again, the words sounding like they’ve wounded him.

“Do you really imagine I would say anything else?” Pete murmurs, running his hand down Patrick’s arm only to take his hand one last time. “Yes, of course. Even this.”

 

* * *

 

 

**fall-out-writers**

 

> Hey, yes, we’re still around! Recently, our account has gotten some questions over whether or not we would continue with our monthly fics. We’ve heard a lot from both sides— people who wanted us to stop and people who were scared we would— and, after a week-long discussion in the group chat, we came to a compromise. Writers had already been hard at work on these fics and it would be unfair to hide them away. HOWEVER, this will be our last compilation until Patrick is found and the drama in the fandom has ceased. The last thing we want is to do is add to any disrespect or fear but we also don’t want to abandon anybody who sees fic as a form of escape.
> 
>  
> 
> Speaking of escape… Some of these fics deal with some pretty heavy topics (like the missing case itself). This is in no way speculation or making light of things— you’ll notice that we’ve changed a few details so that none of this is more than a form of coping for the reader/writer. Do pay attention to trigger warnings, though.
> 
>  
> 
> A few of our writers dropped out this round so we have a bit of a shorter collection for you. Fair, since it’s a short month, right? Lol, on with the recs!
> 
>  
> 
>   * ****Mourning Masterpiece**** by _@this-is-our-fedora_ :  “With every picture that comes in, every painting with delicate strokes, they begin to realize that it’s not about the music; it’s never been about the music. It’s about the art and Patrick is the greatest artist known to man || During the Missing Patrick investigation, Patrick’s friends and family begin receiving strange drawings and art pieces. Apart, these deliveries mean nothing. Together, though, they might just reveal where Patrick’s been all this time. The real mystery is if a band broken by rumors and tragedy will be able to solve Patrick’s puzzle once and for all.”
> 

>       * WARNING: Based on the Missing Patrick case but still so much more than that. Without giving anything away, this fic is one of the most heartbreaking that we’ve ever shared in our compilations. It’s a bit of mystery with a dash of suspense and a whole lot of angst beneath every character interaction. Patrick doesn’t show up much in this one outside of flashbacks but it’s still one of the best portrayals I’ve ever seen; you can really imagine him planning this whole thing out and waiting for his friends to come find him. The three members of the band that we do see act exactly like a family and it makes me want to sob. Perfectly realistic and wonderfully written!
> 

> 
>  
> 
>   * ****The Vampire Next Door**** by _@holdonholdon-ordont : _ “Wentzstina High School AU. Christina’s the new girl in her high school, having moved to a new town after her parents’ divorce. She’s alone and blaming herself for the past when the next door neighbor’s son comes to visit— Peter Wentz. A jock with bright eyes and kind smiles, Pete’s the perfect boy-next-door and he seems intent on fixing all of Christina’s problems. There’s just one catch: Pete’s a 100-year-old vampire. All Christina’s senses tell her tun run but that’s not an easy task, especially when she finds herself falling in love.”
> 

>       * The sweetest Wentzstina fic you will ever read!!!!! Though there are vampires and high school romance, this is not your typical Twilight theme. The point of view changes between Pete and Christina and it’s so fascinating to watch how they end up falling in love. The writing is absolutely phenomenal, as well. There are cameos from a ton of celebrities— including Christina’s irl fiance, who is actually a really interesting character in this fic. 30k words of pure high school romance and vampire shenanigans and the best use of night vision you’ve ever seen, haha. Cuddle up and escape into this magical world!
> 

> 
>  
> 
>   * ****The Lights Are On and Everybody’s Home****  by _@gayisasynonymforme_ : “The year is 2023. Patrick never came home. The band never made another record or played another show. Still, they’ve all moved on. They had their funeral, they said their goodbyes, and they moved on. Joe and Andy formed new bands; Pete formed new relationships. And, now, after all this time, Patrick decides to show back up. He didn’t expect to be forgiven but he also never expected to be forgotten.”
> 

>       * WARNING: Missing Patrick Case and cult involvement! Anyway. Wow. Just… Wow. Where do I start with this one? This is a chilling story, even if it is all about reunions and trying to find happy endings. Patrick disappeared after a mission for his cult went wrong and the one thing keeping him going was the thought of the people he had to return to. But what happens when those people have already said their goodbyes? This is a fantastic take on the situation and will haunt you weeks after reading it. The Peterick relationship is well-written and you’ll find yourself fighting to decide who you feel worst for.
> 

> 
>  
> 
>   *     * **Stage Gay Olympics** by _@patricksvoice : _ “Pete’s the king of stage gay. That is, until this fiery bastard named Patrick comes along and threatens to steal his crown. Pre-hiatus.”
>     * OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. READ THIS NOW. Seriously, it is hilarious and so hot and I can’t get over any of it. It’s a bit porn with some plot but don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it anyway. Basically, Pete’s notorious for his stage gay antics in all his bands before FOB. When he and Patrick finally end up in the same band, Patrick’s heard all the rumors and decides the best way to put Pete in his place is by showing him what a real master of stage gay can do. A ton of onstage kisses and flirting and the origin of the “friction in your jeans” guitar grind. You’ll read this and cry because of how realistic all the characters are and also because you’ll get to the end and realize that none of this ever actually happened (onstage, at least… who knows what happened when we weren’t looking?). This is basically one huge mess of sexual tension and smut. I’m still salivating over it.
> 

> 
>  
> 
>   * ****(After) Life of the Party**** by _@keyofreason : _“Missing Patrick AU. Pete was the cool kid in high school. He was the pretty boy with more friends than he could count and invitations to every weekend party. Patrick was the loner, the band geek with glasses and oversized hats he always got in trouble for wearing. Patrick was ignored and, then, one day, he was gone. This fic takes place years after that, after the town’s moved on from the sudden disappearance of one of their kids. Pete’s a senior in college and is still just as cool as he was in high school. He has a plan for his life, a path to success. But all that changes when he runs into none other than Patrick Stump one night after a party. Suddenly, Pete’s more than a cool college kid; he’s in the midst of drama like he’s never seen before. TW: kidnappings, minor character death, drugs, attempted sexual assault.”
> 

>     * WARNING: Missing Patrick (also, pay attention to the trigger warnings in the tags). We’re excited to announce _@keyofreason_ as one of our newest writers! Joining in with a twist on the Missing Patrick case, this fic is a rollercoaster from start to finish. Pete’s infuriating as a popular frat boy but that just makes his own personal character journey so much more intriguing to watch. His reactions to every plot point, from the crazy to the downright depressing, are actually really human and prove that there’s a good person beneath all the partying and pranks. I personally really appreciate the flashbacks to the high school scenes as they pull the fic together into this really realistic world. While I might not suggest this to the faint of heart, this is certainly going to be a fandom fave over time.
> 

> 
>  
> 
> That does it for our main recs but, again, please be sure to check out the full list here! We’ve got some amazing fics out for you and really hope you enjoy them. Reminder that this will be the last compilation for a while so get your comments in while you can! Keep safe and enjoy the reading!! <3
> 
>  
> 
> — Mod C
> 
> _#fall-out-writers #fall out boy #fanfic #peterick #wentzstina #all the good ships lol #read and comment!!!!_

**365 notes**

 

* * *

 

_ February 13 _

 

#  **Weekly Trash: Valentine’s Day Special**

#  **Podcast by: Ricky Lyons — February 13, 2019**

 

_ Transcript: _

 

Hello, hello, and welcome back to the Weekly Trash! Your favorite place for hot rumors, hot topics, and all of the world’s hottest messes.

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking— it’s not actually Valentine’s yet. True enough, we’ve still got one day to go. But I didn’t really feel like throwing off my posting schedule in favor of bowing down to just one day!

 

Besides, it looks like I’m not the only one who missed the memo! You might remember our last discussion about Patrick Stump, the missing man? Well, he may not be so missing anymore! Fans have speculated about his appearances recently, sharing sightings online and shouting to anyone who will listen that he is, in fact, just in hiding. So if the police can’t find this celebrity, who can?

 

That’s right! His lover, Pete Wentz. Now, Pete admitted to his and Patrick’s relationship a month ago and… that was a whole mess by itself. Check through past episodes to see that one because, holy hell, people exploded. Anyway, moving back to today’s topics, we’ve got a merging of sightings and relationship. That’s right, people believe they’ve seen both Pete and Patrick hanging out together. No one knows what it means and police haven’t said anything about it but it is curious, isn’t it?

 

So what are the two up to? Have the lovebirds finally reunited or are they the victims of yet another rumor? Let me know! And, of course, share any sighting stories you might have. I don’t always believe them but let’s see if any of you can convince me… 

 

* * *

 

_ February 14 _

 

Another motel, another town. Pete shuts the door and pulls Patrick towards him. Dusk creeps in through the windows, curtains closed but incapable of fully denying night its presence in the room. A near silence peeks in beside it, their breaths sounding more certain than either of them feel.

“Alright. We’re here,” Pete says. His heart kicks against his chest, drumming with all the strength it’s taken not to break down over the past day or month.

“More importantly, we’re safe. They didn’t follow us. We’re fine,” Patrick says, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than Pete. Pete, whose hand is tight around his wrist and whose pulse is hammering away at his skin. When Patrick presses a gentle kiss to his jaw, it does little to ease the tension building in his mind. Still, he turns and catches the kiss with his own lips, a temporary relief before Patrick sighs and pulls away. “I know them and I know their games. They won’t get to you, I promise. I might not be able to hide from them forever but I can at least keep you safe.”

Patrick’s still shaking in Pete’s arms, still glancing at the door like he expects to see a shadow sneak through. They had to run from their last location after Patrick saw some “familiar faces” hanging around the last motel lobby and Pete would give anything to forget the fear that stained Patrick’s voice as he told Pete they had to go.

So he leans in and pulls Patrick close, kisses his lips as if he could take the panic from him and host in his own being. He kisses him like it could destroy the outside world, make either of them forget that anything other than this exists. He bites Patrick’s lip and runs his hands down his spine, the proof of Patrick’s presence enough to calm his tremors for just a while. When Patrick pulls back, it’s with a shaking gasp and it’s not for long; he hides his face in Pete’s neck, his trembling breaths ghosting across Pete’s skin. 

Pete holds Patrick close to him, a hand at the back of his neck and the other carding gently through his hair. 

“You don’t need to protect me,” Pete says, whispers, begs.

“You don’t know what we’re up against,” Patrick says, sounding like he could be laughing but feeling like he’s breaking apart. He presses closer to Pete, swaying against him. “You’ll understand. One day.”

Pete pushes Patrick back just enough so he can see his eyes, just enough so he can breathe without feeling the echoes of his thoughts ricocheting into Patrick’s lungs. “And I trust that you’ll tell me. But, for now, let me be the one comforting you.”

Patrick grabs onto Pete’s shoulders, digging into the bone with his grip. “I don’t know how you can want any part of this. You’ve had every chance to walk away.”

Pete sighs. “Don’t you know that I don’t want to leave your side? Ever?”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Patrick says with a breath of his own though a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “But I am, too. So I guess that’s fair.”

Pete flicks him, laughing when Patrick ducks with a halfhearted protest. “Good. That’s settled. Now can I please take care of my boyfriend on Valentine’s?”

“God,” Patrick says, rolling his eyes. “Here? You know, we could always just wait until things have calmed down. Or until we have a nicer room, at least.”

Patrick sounds like he’s pretending and it’s that pretense, that fear, that has Pete holding his waist and guiding him back towards the bed, laying him down like something to be revered as they fall. Patrick gasps, softly, but presses his palm to Pete’s cheek, shuddering when Pete presses back into it. As Patrick’s eyes darken and soften at once, Pete toys with the idea of kissing him forever.

“You’re always so stressed now. So busy.” Pete says it the way he would if they were home, if they were safe, if they were away from this mess and all its damage. “We can stop, if you want. But, first, tell me what you need.”

“The only thing I need is you,” Patrick says softly, lifting his head to kiss Pete. “There’s nothing else.”

His voice, his touch, his very breath sends chills down Pete’s spine and Pete is only human. He presses back against Patrick’s lips, begging with his tongue to be let in, to be touched in return. When Patrick’s tongue meets his, sparks fly down Pete’s blood and bones. Patrick is here and it’s like he never left, like this is nothing more than the aftermath of another terrible dream. Hopes and nightmares fly together as he buries himself in Patrick’s warmth, hides in his existence. He spoke of wants and needs and, now? He needs everything Patrick’s willing to give. He needs anything and everything that Patrick has.

“You’ll always have me.” Pete’s words are a breath into Patrick’s mouth, an oath in the form of a sigh. “Always. Do you really doubt you won’t?”

Patrick’s hands press into Pete’s back, tugging at his shirt to pull him down. His legs spread and he rolls his hips up, a soft moan escaping as friction burns between them. 

“Don’t ask me that now,” he pants. “Just show me what you want. I swear, I want it, too.”

Pete gives into what Patrick says and does, grinding down on him as Patrick writhes against the sheets. 

“You want this?” Pete asks, already running his hands beneath Patrick’s shirt.

Patrick’s answer is nothing but a breath. “I  _ need  _ this.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 15 _

**miss-missing-patrick**

> I know that a lot of people rely on this blog for information and comfort but I think I’m going to need to take a step back for a bit. I’ve talked to some people who are interested in running it for me but the more I think about it the more appropriate it seems to just let the entire thing be. I still very much love the band and their music but I’m going to be a bit quieter when it comes to Patrick. So, aside from the regular queue of help resources and reassurances, this is going to be a little inactive. Thanks for understanding and I’m sorry it came to this.
> 
> Edit: I’m not going to publically talk about what led to this decision as I don’t have all the facts but, yes, it does have to do with something I’ve learned about Patrick recently. I won’t say more than that. Everyone who needs to know already knows.
> 
> _ #i really am sorry #askbox closed #submissions closed #hiatus #break #im done _

**5,676 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 16 _

From: Patrick Stump

To: Unknown Numbers

Texts Sent: Saturday, Feb 16, 3:03 AM

> Hi. I’m sorry for bothering you. This is Patrick Stump.
> 
> I’m sure you’ve seen the news. I’m sure you’ve worried over whether or not it’s going to affect you. I hate to say this but… Yes. It affects you just as much as it affects me and I am sorry about that. 
> 
> It’s all coming out. All of it. 
> 
> I understand if you’re upset but know that I’m doing all I can to control the damage. If you want to discuss this more in-depth, reach back out. For now, trust that I never actually believed it would come to this.
> 
> If it helps, though, Pete doesn’t know either. So, as much as you must hate me, you can be happy in knowing you won’t ever be the one to hate me the most.

 

* * *

 

 

**Delaney Stanford** _ @delaneyswriting _

Okay, I don’t keep up with the news but I have been following the whole #PatrickStump thing and I swear my best friend’s brother just got a text from him????? That is the missing guy, right????

**Delaney Stanford** _ @delaneyswriting _

Okay. I’ve gotten a ton of messages about this. WHY ARE PPL GETTING TEXTS FROM PATRICK STUMP????

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 17 _

 

**LAPD HQ** _ @LAPDHQ _

We would like to let people know that detectives and investigators are currently working to authenticate the recent outbreak of texts supposedly sent from missing person Patrick Stumph. We appreciate any news that can be shared on this topic.

**LAPD HQ** _ @LAPDHQ _

We ask that anyone who receives any form of communication from Patrick Stumph reach out to us. Thank you.

**LAPD HQ** _ @LAPDHQ _

Due to the randomization of the text locations as well as the lack of further evidence, it is currently believed that these messages are a hoax. More information will follow a deeper investigation.

 

* * *

 

 

**this-is-our-fedora**

> **archiveofourown.org**
> 
> **Wanderer - this_is_our_fedora - Fall Out Boy [Archive of Our Own]**
> 
> An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
> 
> By Organization for Transformative Works
> 
> Chapters: 8/?
> 
> Fandom:  Fall Out Boy
> 
> Rating: Explicit
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence
> 
> Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
> 
> Characters: Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, Joe Trohamn, Andy Hurley
> 
> Additional Tags: Missing Patrick, Sad Pete, Heartbreak, Canon timeline, Smut, Angst with a happy ending, True love, the things Pete will do for love, Pain, Torture, hostage situation
> 
> Summary:
> 
> When Patrick goes missing, so does Pete || Following live updates from the actual case, this fic is a speculation on what might be going on behind the scenes. 
> 
> New Chapter! This one focuses on the texts and what they mean for Pete’s quest for Patrick. Chapter warnings for cult coercion and references to torture
> 
> Source: archiveofourown.org
> 
> _ #it kills me that we dont know what the texts actually say #i saw the news report about it and instantly started outlining this chapter #the devil works fast but fanfic works faster _

**8 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 18 _

**followboy**

> “Professional” news media that doesn’t know how to work a meme let alone fandom: “These kids are mocking the loss of their favorite singer!!!11!!!1 They’re writing stories about him being hurt or dead!!!”
> 
> Actual person in the fandom: “Hey, you know, this is all fiction and we recognize it as such and you making us out to seem like bad people makes this already really painful time that much more difficult for us. Also, writing or reading about fake worlds is actually a really common coping mechanism!!”
> 
> “Professional” news media: “Lmao your singer’s a bad person and you’re a bad person for supporting him.”
> 
> Note to self and others: People like the above don’t matter. They want nothing more than to ruin your day so don’t waste time engaging. Let’s just focus on keeping the hope going for Patrick <3
> 
> _ #fic discourse  _

**273 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 19 _

**relatable-songlyrics**

> I realize I’m a bit late to the party but….. Did @miss-missing-patrick delete??? I saw them talking about a hiatus but I just checked and their blog is gone??? What the hell?
> 
> _ #miss-missing-patrick #im only a little scared by that #concerned #deactivated #please fill me in #whats this stuff about patrick info? _

**57 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

**Fall Out Boy** _ @falloutboy  _

We couldn’t have ever made it this far without your love and support. Thank you so much.

**Khloe** _ @chlorinetonic _

@falloutboy Awwww this made me tear up. I’m assuming it’s about the Grammy you won? You deserve it!

**Sunshine Riptide** _ @hearteyessmile _

@falloutboy Hey!!! What’s going on?? We’ll always love and support you but it’s hard when we have no clue about what you’re up to…..

**Mona** _ @scorpiobitch _

@falloutboy Are things okay now?

**Gina** _ @falloutchicago _

@falloutboy Still praying for Patrick. I hope this tweet means that you found him and that everything’s okay :)

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 21 _

#  **Hollywood Director Geoffrey Bridge discusses desire to create “Missing Patrick” documentary**

By  **Courtney Sherrif** — February 21, 2019

The Missing Patrick case is more than a tragedy, horror film and action movie director Geoffrey Bridge said. It’s the perfect blockbuster plot.

At the beginning of the month, Bridge took part as a guest speaker at a local convention. There, he answered questions about upcoming films and dream jobs. While the event was mostly controversy-free, one answer left people reconsidering their view of Bridge’s morality.

“I think… I really think that missing Patrick story has a lot of interesting components that would just make for a fascinating movie or documentary,” Bridge said. “Obviously, I couldn’t do it now. But if someone came to me with a script in the future? I’d be right on board.”

After videos of the quote appeared online, Bridge found himself the topic of many discussions surrounding sensitivity and understanding.

“It’s a sensitive thing,” fellow director Joanna Williams tweeted. “As an artist, you see the potential in everything. But as a human, you have to see when it’s best to leave the situation alone.”

Despite the backlash, Bridge says he stands by what he said. 

“Maybe I could have said it kinder. Maybe I could have waited a bit longer. I don’t know,” Bridge said in an email to the publication. “What I do know is that I hope Patrick’s alright and that, hey, maybe he’ll let me make a movie about his adventures someday.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 22 _

From: Patrick Stump

To: Unknown Numbers

Texts Sent: Saturday, Feb 22, 7:08 AM

> Thank you for understanding. Thank you for keeping this from the police. Unless otherwise discussed, this will be the last you hear personally from me.
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

**venndieagram**

> _ You know what. I’m just gonna say it. _
> 
> Writing fics about recent events is fucked up. That’s it. No ifs, ands, or buts. It’s fucked.
> 
> Yes, I’m looking directly at the Fall Out Boy fandom. I’m not even an invested fan, I’m more casual and curious, but holy shit your fanfic page is messed up. Look, I don’t care if people write fanfic. Hell, I write fanfic. But adding in details as soon as they’re announced and making crazy theories about serious situations is more than disrespectful— it’s deranged. You should have a bit more love for your idols than that.
> 
> Tl;dr: the ao3 page should not be filled with stories about hostage situations and kidnappings. It’s so much more harmful than you think
> 
> _ #fanfic discourse #missing patrick #in light of recent events and fanfic updates… #sorry not sorry for lowkey directly calling some people out _

**215 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

_ February 23 _

**patricksbitch94**

> Yesterday, a certain post inspired a bunch of people to start messaging and attacking some amazing writers on this site. I’m not gonna touch the drama with a ten-foot pole but I did want to share some love with the fandom. Particularly the side that’s being hurt.
> 
> First off, some lovely fics were deleted after yesterday’s attacks. Unfortunately, I don’t have all of them but I have downloaded quite a few over the past year or so. Let me know if you’re missing something and I’ll try to send it to you!
> 
> Also, to spite the antis coming our way, here’s a reclist of totally harmless fics that deserve to be read!
> 
> **The Bandom Business**  — While on the road to their next monster of the week, the Winchesters come across a very lost and very confused Patrick Stump.   
>  _ (Why you should read it: For the escapism AND for the fact that it might make you ship Dean/Patrick. Just a bit.) _
> 
> ** Mutually Assured Masturbation ** — The hardest part about Patrick being gone? The fact that he took his dick with him. 
> 
> _ (Why you should read it: Because it’s Pete and Patrick masturbating to the thought of each other at the same time in different places without knowing it??? And it also is one of the few non-angsty missing Patrick stories. And because it’s really hot. There are a lot of fun fantasies in here.) _
> 
> ** Take Me Home ** — Patrick found paradise while he was gone. But is it really paradise if Pete’s not with him?
> 
> _ (Why you should read it: You will cry. You will cry and then you will read it again and cry some more. You will think about this fic weeks after reading it and you will still cry. I don’t want to spoil anything but, basically, Patrick finds a place that he considers paradise and comes back to convince Pete to join him. And Pete has to convince Patrick that the reason he found paradise was because Patrick’s dead.  Warnings for character death, obviously) _
> 
> ** Like a Fine Wine ** — Everyone knows Patrick only gets better with age. So when he reappears after being gone for a year, Pete’s neither angry or relieved. He’s just turned on.
> 
> _ (Why you should read it: This is for all those lovers who want some cocky powerbottom Patrick in their life. It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever read… and then it gets hotter. Warnings for winter beard, blowjob lips,  and sweet sweet Chicago thighs.) _
> 
> Feel free to add on!!
> 
> _ #im in that kinda mood #bitching #ignore the discourse and read these fics instead #like #can we appreciate this actual art? #bc this is the only thing keeping me going rn #give them recognition! #we heart our fanfic writers _

**177 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

**everything-you-love**

> That can’t be them…. Can it? 
> 
> **  
>  **
> 
> _ #sighting #peterick sighting #miss missing patrick #seriously i cant tell???? #ughhh #what are they up to? #when the fuck did patrick start wearing the fedora again what the hell #you know what #nevermind #ignore this #im probably wrong _

**158 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

The worst part about this— not that there aren’t a lot of worst parts about the entire situation— is that Pete already knows it’s a bad idea. 

Patrick’s tapping on his thighs as they approach the house, sheltered by the deep blue shades of night and the promise that no one else is home. No one but someone Patrick wronged in the past; no one but someone Patrick says hates him.

Before Patrick lifts a hand to knock, Pete grabs his wrist.

“He’s not gonna hurt you. Right?” His words are stiff, strained, and Patrick blinks as if taken aback.

“I spoke to him on the phone already,” he says as if that changes a thing about this. “We’re just going to talk. I’ll explain myself and we’ll figure out how I can make things right.”

Pete bites his lip, staring at a tree in the yard over Patrick’s shoulder. “And you’re sure I still can’t come in with you?”

“I am sorry about that,” Patrick says, kissing Pete on the cheek. “But this is the part I need to do on my own.”

As if he hasn’t been doing  _ everything  _ on his own. As if that wasn’t the problem, to begin with.

Pete doesn’t have the chance to say any of this because, shortly, Patrick pulls away and knocks on the door. 

The man who answers a second later is not like anything Pete could have been expecting.

This man looks kind, soft, and only his height and muscles are imposing. There’s something gentle about the way his hair falls across his face, something that pulls at his gut when his eyes land on Pete.

“Pete.” The man says, nodding to him and then to Patrick. “That’s Pete.”

“Yeah.” Patrick sounds as if he could be nervous, smiling shakily as he pulls his hand free from Pete’s grip. The stranger’s eyes watch, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he takes in the action. “You still want to talk?”

“Sure,” the man says though he doesn’t move. His eyes stick to Pete. “Is he—”

“Pete will wait out here,” Patrick interrupts with an apologetic smile. Who the apology is for, Pete can’t say. “We’ll be quick.”

The man nods and steps aside with calculated movements. Pete’s stomach twists and turns and he nearly calls Patrick back.

But then Patrick is in the house and the door is shut.

And Pete’s on the outside again. 

<><><>

Inside, Aaron laughs. The sound puts Patrick at ease though it probably shouldn’t. He smiles as he’s led into a sitting room, a TV muted as if the night had been rudely interrupted. 

“So that one’s Pete,” Aaron says as they settle down. “I always wondered.”

“You and many others,” Patrick says, crossing his legs and uncrossing them as he tries to find a comfortable position. “Though, it’s not like a google search would have been hard.”

Aaron’s smile flickers. “With The Culture watching? Might be harder than you make it sound.”

Patrick winces slightly, eyes dropping to the carpet. Lines mark the clean surface, signs of a recent vacuuming. It helps distract his racing heart.

“Right,” he says, licking his lips as his mouth dries. “Are they still…?”

“Around? Watching?” Aaron asks. He waits, allowing Patrick to soak in his anxiety before he shakes his head. “No. Not since your little stunt. Someone with no loyalties is someone with nothing at all. At least, that’s what Sin said before they cut me loose. I lost my job because of that. They were the ones who got me that position and then…”

Patrick still won’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make up for what I did but—”

“But we do what we have to do.” Aaron is bitter, the past leaking in from his lips as Patrick continues to stare at lines that mean nothing. “Isn’t that what you said?”

A deep breath. A pounding heart.

Patrick lifts his gaze and nods.

“And I still stand by that,” he says. “Look, I came here because… because everything they have on me is going to come out. And that includes you.”

Aaron’s laugh could be cruel if it wasn’t so forced. “Includes a lot of people from what I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, well.” Patrick’s face is red, his hands are shoved under his legs to hide their shaking. “You weren’t the only one they sent after Pete.”

The sound Aaron makes is halfway between a laugh and a groan, his eyes flicking towards the doorway where the cause of all this trouble hides.

“I know you said you had this plan to take The Culture down and I’m all for it but, first, you have to answer me this,” he says, dragging those discerning eyes back on Patrick. Patrick’s skin crawls, itches with the judgment, but he can’t bring himself to look away. “Was he worth it? What you did to me, to the cult, to yourself?”

“He was worth all of it.” At least it’s a question Patrick can answer honestly. At least it’s the one thing he’s sure of in this life. As Aaron nods, considering this, Patrick raises an eyebrow at him. “Indulge me? Just a little? Was it worth it? Helping me help him?”

At this, Aaron smiles and it’s more genuine than anything else this night. “I didn’t reply to your text with any death threats so I guess that answers itself.”

Whatever tension there had been fades as Patrick laughs, light and breathy, like taking a gup of fresh air after drowning for years. He bites his lip to keep any more irrationality from escaping.

“You won’t tell him, though, right?” He asks, pulling his hands free as his nerves quiet down. “You’ll let me be the one to do that?”

“I shouldn’t. But sure.” After a moment, Aaron’s tilts his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t you tell him about what  _ we  _ did, though? I know you did a ton of shit to the guys they sent after Pete but what you pulled on me was damning yourself, too. The stuff they have of you, of us… Wouldn’t that make it easier? Wouldn’t he understand?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, Pete’s had his dick online. Maybe he would understand if they were just going to leak that,” Patrick says, smirking as his cheeks flush pink. “But something tells me that a video is an entirely different matter.”

**  
  
**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh midnight here!! I'm gonna call that a success. 
> 
> Can you tell that I really like making up fake fanfictions? Oh. And did you see the little messages hidden in there? You might only be able to see it with a computer but that's okay. I'm just testing things out for... later
> 
> Anyway!! Let me know what you think PLEASE. This takes hours to edit and format, not to mention the actual writing. I'd love to know what you're thinking of it!!
> 
> Until next week! We've only got a bit left.. yikes.


	6. March 4 - March 13 (Why Weren't You Honest From The Start?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies when you have secrets to confess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say here at all. Umm. Happy Valentine's Day I guess? Here, celebrate with this mess, haha.
> 
> I'm giving up homework for this, please let me know if you enjoy it :)
> 
> Also! We're near the end! That's absolutely terrifying! I really hope you've liked the journey so far :) When you get to the bottom, feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you think the final chapter will hold.
> 
>  
> 
> Speaking of which. That thing's gonna be long. I had to shift so much of this chapter into that one's outline because I realized a little late that this one needed to end pretty much directly after a certain event. So. Look forward to that?   
> <><>
> 
> Playlist:   
> \- Handmade Heaven by MARINA  
> \- Smoke and Mirrors by Jayn  
> \- Gold by Imagine Dragons  
> \- Chicago Is So Two Years Ago by Fall Out Boy

_ March 4, 2019 _

 

` I’m not the one who’s supposed to be good at words but here we are, writing down thoughts as if they’ll ever matter. And I’m not supposed to be the one getting in trouble but, again, here we are: another stranger to meet, another secret to confess.  `

 

` I’m tired of secrets; I’m sick of confessions. `

 

` Pete tags along dutifully, as if I had ever asked him to. Hesitance shows in his eyes whenever I visit these men and women, these people ordered to destroy him, but I think he knows that it’s nothing he can control. He’s stopped with his worries and questions… Does it make me horrible if it all feels so boring now? The people I visit, aside from a few, have made it clear that they don’t plan on harboring much resentment towards me, even if I do deserve it. Sin was the only one who ever really wanted Pete on his side, these people aren’t to blame for that. But I blamed them anyway, didn’t I? Finding their scandals or creating my own, forcing them to understand that damning Pete would be to damn themselves.  `

 

` But I did the same, so isn’t that fair? Aaron— I damned us both when I made that video, tricking us into his bed with the camera on. Is that why he doesn’t care that it’s to be seen? Because he knows, no matter what harm it brings him, it could never match the storm to befall me? `

 

` I wonder, sometimes, about the people I didn’t treat fairly— why have they moved on? The ones who I’ve threatened with exposure, the ones with families I knew they needed to protect… It was easy to pin my moral compass on whatever kept Pete from becoming like me but, now, I wonder. Was it worth it? `

 

` ~~ Pete’s always worth it ~~ `

 

` He thinks this is all there is. He thinks that all I’ve done is bribe and coerce and he looks at me differently, yes, but he still looks at me with care. He thinks he understands but I can see he hasn’t given it much thought. I’ve never been able to tell if he loves me but I can at least tell that he cares for me. How long will that last? How many more people must he see destroyed before he sees me as the destroyer? How many more lives must he accept as ruined by my hands before drawing away from the blood beneath the fingernails? These people live but they live in fear because I gave The Culture their secrets; I gave them reasons to have secrets at all.  `

 

` I’m no better than Sin. But that also means Sin’s no better than me. `

 

` I still don’t know if I plan on returning home after this, or if The Culture will tighten their chains again. I’ve only escaped now because they forced me to— keeping me prisoner while people feared, what were they trying to prove?  `

 

` I fear that they needed this. I fear that I’m walking into another one of their traps. `

 

` I fear this is a nightmare and I haven’t earned the right to wake up.  `

  
  


` We go to visit the last group of them soon. If I remember correctly, one of them has met Pete before. I wonder if he will catch on, then. `

 

` — Patrick Stumph. March 4, 2019 `

 

* * *

_ March 5 _

_ _

* * *

_ March 5 _

Pete sees the fan before Patrick does, walking down the otherwise empty city sidewalk with one of those purple MANIA hoodies hugging their chest. It’s late, too late for anyone to be out, but that didn’t stop Pete and Patrick; just like it doesn’t seem to be stopping this fan. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Pete sees Patrick duck into a narrow space between two buildings, disappearing into the shadows within. The fan falters, too far for Pete to make out their expression, but continues at a quicker pace than before; Pete freezes as they draw closer, uncertain about whether he’s to smile or hide, as well.

“Always running off when things get hard,” Pete says, loud enough for Patrick to hear in his alley but not enough for the approaching fan. Pete glances around as he smiles and tugs out his phone, attempting to appear busy even while he tries to figure out what his excuse will be for lingering around outside, cities from his home, at midnight no less. The cell phone screen only blinds him, though, and he staggers back, imagining he hears some snickering in the dark. Patrick. Of course.

Pete would love to see  _ him  _ come out and face this; he’s the one who decided to turn this into a giant game of hide-and-go-seek, after all. 

The fan stops, fixes her hair and checks her phone. Pete supposes he could run but that would be more suspicious. He winces when she looks back up, smiling at him now, and waves.

Well, she certainly seems to know what she’s after, practically speed-walking towards Pete now. Her phone lights up in her hand and Pete imagines he can see the group chat texts rolling in:  _ just saw Pete and Patrick outside!!!! Get pics! Get proof! Tell them to tell Shania happy birthday! _

Pete shakes his head; he pins his own smile in place. The girl comes close enough for him to see the glint of discerning criticism in her eye. She stops uncertainly in front of him, shifting her weight awkwardly as her mouth opens and shuts with lack of something to say. Her eyes dart towards the alleyway and Pete supposes it’s up to him to stop her from going in.

“Hey, nice hoodie,” he says, trembling hands fitting comfortably in his pockets as he catches her attention. “I forgot to wear mine today.”

The girl’s head turns to face Pete, her jaw-dropping slightly as he addresses her. She scrambles to shove the suspicion from her eyes, her smile growing with each second.

“Sorry, this is just insane,” she stammers. “Last I heard, you were visiting with, uh, with family out of state.” She licks her lips, eyes flicking back to the alley for a millisecond before fixating on Pete. Pete slouches towards the darkness as if his body could block the entrance, lock Patrick in until it’s safe for him to come out. It’d be just their luck that they’d be exposed by none other than a teenage fan; fitting, too, all things considered.

Well, fitting for Patrick in a rather cruel sense. Pete’s always dealt with the meaner side of the paparazzi and press; the hidden public forums were the ones who never seemed to be able to discern whether they loved or merely tolerated Patrick.

“I did for a bit but I just got back. Needed some time to myself to clear my mind about… about things.” It’s a convincing argument. He just hopes he sounds the part. “I’m heading off in a while but, uh, did you want a picture? Or is there something I can sign?”

“No, no, it’s fine! I don’t want people to bother you if I, like, post something,” she says as if her phone isn’t blowing up with Tumblr and Twitter notifications right now. As she looks away to dim the brightness, Pete catches sight of a hashtag—  _ missmissingpatrick.  _ His eyebrows furrow together but he says nothing about it. He’d seen the tag online, of course, but it was easy to forget that other people were missing Patrick, too. Not everyone has found him yet.

“I appreciate that. Thanks,” he says, a bit dryly as the familiar wrongness of Patrick not being at his side sets in, reignited by the fact that, by all definitions, he’s still missing. It’s been how long now? A few moments? A few minutes? It only took Patrick one day to disappear before, what’s to stop him from doing it again? The chords to  _ Miss Missing You  _ echo through his mind, a joke that keeps falling flat as Pete’s skin itches and crawls at the thought of finding Patrick gone once more.

The fan says something about the last album before her tone darkens, shifting into a small sentence about Patrick.

Patrick.

Patrick.

Pete blinks, shaking himself back into reality when the girl stops speaking.

“Hey,” she asks, eyebrow raised and lips quirked into something unusual. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Pete says, or tries to say, croaking as shadows settle in around him. Which way did Patrick go? Why did he go? Pete’s hand closes around nothing in his pocket, cold and empty. “Hey, it was nice meeting you but I should head out.”

“Sure—” She’s not done speaking and Pete feels awful but he turns and steps into the alley.

Maybe she’ll follow him and call the police; maybe she’ll take pictures and post it for everyone to find.

Maybe this entire nightmare can be over, once and for all.

Pete suffocates on the dark as he spins, too afraid of silence to call out for Patrick’s name. He’s staring at nothing but brick and shadow when a hand grasps his arm above the elbow.

“Pete,” Patrick whispers, his eyes and teeth shiny beneath the moon and stars. 

Pete jerks, spinning with wild eyes, and then takes Patrick into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling only the smallest shame at his own actions. “I just need a second to make sure you’re not going to leave again. Promise me you won’t leave again.”

Not a request or a question— this time, it’s a demand.

Patrick sighs, soft and gentle. His arms wrap around Pete.

“I promise,” he says, as timid as the stars behind the dusty shade of the clouds above. “I’ll stay until you ask me to leave.”

Pete doesn’t think of what this means. He merely shuts his eyes and holds on tighter.

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 6 _

[Kids-not-alright](https://youtu.be/HvAcQxb-FoE)

> Everyone joining the FOB fandom for clout is sooo weird considering that we were kinda small this time last year? Like, don’t get me wrong, FOB is a HUGE band but the fandom isn’t half as big as the cl*kkies or the sw*fties for example. It was kinda just our own little thing but now there’s this huge spotlight on it and idk I just want things to go back to the way they were… You know… When we were all a family instead of one big spectacle…
> 
> _ #mine #fob fandom #ughhh #no drama please #i am only small _

**142 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

__

_ March 6 _

__

The last man they meet with is one of the calmer ones, preferring to talk things out and try to understand rather than resort to violence and threats like some of the others had. Patrick’s cheek is still slightly bruised in the shape of some stranger’s fist; he had insisted it was deserved but Pete’s blood still heats whenever he looks at it.

Now, back in their car with nothing but night between them, Pete places his hands on the steering wheel and waits for Patrick to settle in.

“So you didn’t recognize him, then,” Patrick says, hands wrapped tight around his seat belt though the car’s not moving; eyes on the window though Pete tries without speaking to make him look over. Patrick’s shoulders slump at the lack of response. “I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“He was at one of the Monumentour shows,” Pete says after a short pause, feeling empty without Patrick’s eyes on him. Bile spills up his throat as he remembers that night, somewhere in the midwest, walking backstage to find Patrick in the lap of a stranger— never seen before and never seen again. Pete had Christina, then, but he’d always known how much he needed Patrick. He always felt a little jealous— a character flaw Patrick’s been kind enough to forgive time and time again. “Backstage. You two were—” he cuts off, certain he’ll choke if he says it.

Cruelly, but only towards himself, Patrick smiles. “He was also a techie on that tour. But only for a few shows. I made him leave.”

Pete drags his own eyes forward, caught on streetlights and driveways. “Is that what this is about? You sleeping your way through our staff?” 

He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh but Patrick barely flinches, shrugging as if Pete had commented simply on the weather.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have real theories,” he says, sounding miles away. “And I obviously didn’t sleep with all of them.”

Pete breathes deeply through his nose, fingers clenching and unclenching around the wheel as he thinks.

“Okay, so, you slept with  _ some  _ of them.” It’s not his business to pry into, not his right to sound so hurt. “And, what? The Culture filmed it?”

“No.” Patrick’s voice is simple, practiced, rehearsed— only the smallest quiver fits around his lips. “I did.”

At this, Pete’s head turns sharply to look at him, his neck aching from the sudden twist. 

“What? You—” He tries to reconcile the idea of such an act with the Patrick he knows, the one who shies away from selfies, let alone personal moments. The man whose privacy means more to him than his fame, whose favorite memories are the ones no one else knows. That man filmed them? The same man sitting next to Pete, bright red and hushed? Pete’s words scrape out of his mouth like sandpaper. “Why the hell would you—”

“They were hired by The Culture to spy on you. Find something to blackmail you with so they could ruin you or, worse, have a way to control you,” Patrick says, only the fists in his laps belying any sort of emotion. “I had to do  _ something _ . I couldn’t… I couldn’t just sit back and let them turn you into me, into some kind of puppet with no right to the life they have. So I fought back. Some of them, it was easy. I found their secrets, found even more than what The Culture had on them, and made threats. Told them that bringing you down would bring them down, too. Others, well… They didn’t have secrets worth spilling. So I made some.”

He doesn’t say it but Pete can see it clearly in his mind. 

_ I made some _ , Patrick says, meaning  _ I made a sex tape and used that to threaten them with. I made whatever I could to keep you safe. I threw myself into the fire because my soul was already sold— yours didn’t have to be. _

_ Yes. I did even this. _

Pete feels sick. He feels drained, like the half-version of himself that Patrick must see, like the defenseless boy who needs a kid to protect him. He stares straight ahead, trying to form words without throwing them up, afraid that looking at Patrick will force him to see only the body he sold in exchange for Pete’s security. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says because, for once, he has no words for the storm inside his head, the hurricane in his guts, the fire in his blood. “I could have protected myself.”

“Maybe,” Patrick says, at last looking over with eyes that don’t believe Pete at all. If Pete is drained, then Patrick is hollowed out, nothing left but the insistence that he needs to keep Pete safe. “But I wasn’t willing to take that risk.”

Pete shuts his mouth, eyes trying to drop but finding it impossible once they latch onto Patrick’s. Is this the Patrick he loves? Beneath the lies and the pain, Pete’s heart beats to the steady tune of a resounding  _ YES. _

Though his throat tingles with the need to either sob or puke— though his hands are shaking for a reason other than Parick’s absence and though his eyes see more than the kid who can sing his horrid words— Pete softens his voice and pretends to relax.

“You thought I’d be mad?” He asks, mind twisting to fit that idea into this situation. He’s offended and stunned, hurt and sickened, but he’s far from angry. Though Patrick was stupid, though he was cruel, he was still Patrick in everything he did. “You think I hate you for this?”

“No.” The word sounds like it’s stuck to Patrick’s tongue, not fully said as he looks away once more, back straightening. “I think you’ll hate me for what you’re going to learn next.”

 

* * *

 

_ March 7 _

**FREE FOLLOW ~ READ BIO** _ @wearethechampion _

Okayyyy but y arent we talking about the vid that fan posted 2day? The one of meeting pete a few nights ago?? Somethings up, mark my words…

**X || 1 week until Panic!** _ @pinned _

[_@wearethechampion_ ](https://youtu.be/bELO_bej6xk?t=39)I don’t think he owes us an explanation for anything? Holy shit, his boyfriend’s been missing for almost three months and the cops aren’t saying anything promising. Consider how tf that feels?? Wtf guys give him some fucking privacy, he’s probably mourning

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 7 _

` It was raining, lightly, by the time we got back into the city we actually live in. At least, Pete told me it was raining. I didn’t see but I could hear it, half-asleep in the back in the backseat with a blanket tucked halfway over my face in case someone with a phone was around but I heard it. Tapping against the roof and splashing onto the window. If I held my breath and leaned into the rumble of the tires in the background, I could dream that I was back in that horrible van. `

` It was the most comforted I’ve felt in a long time, warm and safe and sure. `

` We’ve only a few more days until this is all over, until I’ve confessed all my sins and love. Pete doesn’t hate me yet but I think he’s getting there, looking at me like I might be a stranger. He thinks of me differently now. I thought I would be prepared for that. `

` But he did try to joke about it. He called me an anti-hero, a chaotic good like it was some kind of role. Like there weren’t people hurt in the process. But I didn’t correct him. Perhaps the smile I gave him was selfish but I liked it when he smiled back, even if it was pained. `

` There will be more pain to come. I don’t know if he’s realized this.  `

` The rain’s stopped now and Pete’s inside, checking us into some motel simply because I asked him to. He doesn’t seem to recognize what houses we’re near, what people we may run into, but I don’t mind. He’d stop speaking to me if he started to piece it together on his own and I would miss his voice like I miss the rain.  `

<p`>When he leaves, I’ll miss him as winter misses the Sun. I’ll miss him as morning misses dreams.`

` I’ll miss him as I missed him during the hiatus. `

` And this whole cycle will start again. `

` — Patrick Stumph. March 7, 2019 `

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 8 _

#  **#MissingPatrick investigations to be decreased by end of the month**

By  **Cora Austin —** March 8, 2019

**Update:** In response to the following report, posted at the beginning of the month, police have been overwhelmed by people claiming that Patrick Stumph is still alive and has been sighted multiple times since his supposed disappearance. It is unknown whether or not this will affect the previous decision to limit investigation efforts.

  
  


_ Originally posted March 1, 2019 _

The lead investigator in the Los Angeles Police Department’s search for singer Patrick Stumph has declared that he expects for focus on this case to decrease at the end of the month.

Chief-of-Police Michael Moore said that they’ve recently shifted their focus towards the possibility of homicide. 

“Usually when we reach this point in the missing timeline, it’s unlikely that we get a person back alive,” Moore said. “Of course, we all hope for the best but, unfortunately, we have to be realistic and honest about what we’re thinking.”

The force intends to start turning the focus towards other high-priority cases in the coming weeks, Moore said. 

“Turning our eyes onto other missing persons is just as important as finding a celebrity,” Moore said. “We’ve spoken with (Stumph’s) family and they agree. They’re understandably upset but they seem to agree.”

Patricia Stumph, the mother of the missing singer, said that she believes the new focus won’t change anything.

“If they were going to find my son, they would have done it by now. They don’t care about him and it shows,” she said. “They decreased their investigation focus and efforts a while ago. I won’t be surprised if they stop completely.”

When asked about where she thinks her son is, Stumph said she knows he must be okay.

“I know it sounds like bullcrap whenever a mother says she can tell if her kids are okay but, trust me, I can tell,” she said. “I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing but I do know that he has to be alive. It doesn’t matter what the police say— I know my boy’s alive. I just need someone to bring him home.”  **([Read More](https://youtu.be/k4Yd3nnreOo))**

* * *

_ March 8 _

#  **Anonymous source delivers Patrick Stump evidence to news stations, police departments**

By  **Tori Smith** —  March 8, 2019

Following the news of investigation cuts, an anonymous source has taken it upon themselves to deliver their own Patrick Stump evidence to news stations and police departments across the nation. 

Thumb drives and envelopes with links to ZIP files have been found in the mailboxes of reporters and police officers since approximately 6 a.m. this morning. The contents have yet to be identified as most stations handed their deliveries to the police to be examined.

  
Local police have said that, should the files be safe, reporters will be free to share the new evidence with the public. Examinations are expected to conclude within a week…  **([Read More](https://youtu.be/64eM2EJb3Wk)** **)**

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 9 _

The paper wrinkles as Patrick sets it back against the motel bed, his own crinkled name staring accusingly back at him as if to mock his attempts to remain hidden. He frowns at it a moment longer, his back aching from how he’s hunched over it, sitting criss-cross on the bed. After a moment, he looks towards the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing like false rain as he sighs beneath the noise. He had grabbed the newspaper after Pete had stepped into the shower and he knows he should hide it before Pete comes out but, somehow, he can barely move.

Instead, he places his face in his hands, hiding from his own shame and pushing back the nerves prickling across his skin. 

He has a few days at most. The examination of the evidence is a good delay— if an embarrassing one, but he tries not to think of officers poring over what they see— and it can only last so long. Eventually, media outlets will grow greedy for views and clicks and they’ll download the files themselves, releasing them online with tacky headlines and clickbaity snippets. And even if they are moral enough to hold back from doing that, Sin’s already given the evidence out; he’ll post it himself if he has to.

Sin. Patrick’s nails, blunt and cragged, dig into his scalp at the thought of the man. Sin knows better than to involve Pete in this, Patrick hopes. He’s doing this to punish Patrick but also because he’s scared; because he knows what Patrick has and discrediting him is the only way to keep it from mattering.

Patrick never planned on sharing what he found, anyway, but, now, he wishes he had the guts to go through with it when it mattered.

The water in the bathroom shuts off. Patrick takes a shaky breath and drops his hands back into his lap.

Focus on Pete. Focus on making things right. The pain and anger can come later.

Patrick flips the paper over with a frustrated scowl just as Pete walks out, a towel clinging to his hips as he runs his fingers through gently curling hair. Water droplets drag down his chest to collect on that dark tattoo and it’s enough to trick Patrick into a comfortable smile. Pete meets it with a shocked grin of his own— shocked, perhaps, that Patrick’s smiling at all— but quickly covers it when he pulls a loose white t-shirt over his head. 

“You’ve got a plan for us today or are we just hanging out again?” Pete asks, jerking Patrick back into their troubles. Patrick blinks, dizzy as he slips into a world where he only has Pete for a few days more. He looks away, rubs his eyes, frowns and does anything to wipe the fond look from his face.

If he was kinder, he would let Pete hate him now. He’d draw away and take back his affections so it hurts less when Pete finally sees the truth. Patrick had entertained the thought while they were apart, while he had the chance to keep his distance. Better to let Pete slip into resentment than to crash his vision of the golden boy with one slam of the hammer to his bones. 

Patrick’s selfish and he’s cruel but knowing these facts doesn’t make it easy to change them.

“You should check us out now,” he says, stretching his arms over his head as Pete finishes dressing. 

Pete makes an affirmative sound, tying his hair back. “Do you have another motel in mind? I might need to get gas.”

“No.” Patrick swallows, feeling silly as something like birds flutter through his veins and throat. “No, we’ve only got one more person to talk to and then we’re going home.”

“Oh,” Pete says after a moment, paused with his mouth a perfect  _ O  _ and his eyebrows raised. Patrick looks away, pretends not to see. “You said that other guy was the last one. Who are we meeting now?”

Patrick takes a deep breath without feeling the oxygen hit his body. Is he choking? Is he suffocating? He can’t tell anymore but that’s okay as long as he doesn’t let Pete see how much it hurts to speak. “Christina.”

He’s not looking at Pete anymore but he feels him freeze, feels his shock and denial hit the air like an electric current buzzing with hope and harm.

When Pete answers, his voice is gravel beneath car wheels. “You mean like—”

“Like Christina Ashe? Like your ex?” Patrick flicks the paper off the bed. It lands cover up. “Yes, I mean exactly her.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 9 _

**A.J. Wilkinson** _ @ajwilkinson _

Hey @ChristinaAshe did you mean to follow the @/missmissingpatrick account? I thought you didn’t want to be connected with the band anymore? Pretty bold move considering how much we know you dislike the singer haha!!! Love ya!

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 10 _

` I want to say that I’m ready to face what comes next. I want to keep pretending that none of this bothers me. `

` Pete didn’t want to leave right away. He wanted answers and refused to leave unless I gave it to him. And I didn’t. I’m a coward and I’m selfish and I couldn’t be the one to say it. When he thinks of hating me, I don’t want him to think of yet another dirty motel room— things ending the way they began. `

` I don’t want him to think of me as a greedy child, a kid he failed to keep in line. I never felt younger than Pete, no matter the difference between us. He’s always needed me, always asked me to protect him and I did. And, sure, maybe he’s confused about why I would go so far but confusion isn’t hatred— it’s just a doorway in. `

` So. Here we are. Another motel room. Another night of sleeping next to each other and ignoring every problem in between. Each second is another space between us, no matter how Pete clings. `

` I keep imagining what he’ll do when he learns my last secret. I keep tricking myself into thinking, even for a second, that it’s not as bad as it feels. `

` But I know the truth. I know what I did. I know how he’ll feel. `

` And I know I’ll never be ready to face that.  `

` — Patrick Stumph. March 10, 2019 `

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 10 _

**justiceforpatrick**

> Hello, fandom!! I hope you’re doing well! Some of you might have noticed that the original Patrick search page (@/miss-missing-patrick) was deactivated a while ago— which, yeah, was pretty scary. No one still really knows why but don’t worry! A few friends and I have been following the case AND the fandom side pretty closely so we’re hoping that this can be a new page for all of you. Please reblog and spread the word!
> 
> So… we’re gonna start off with the biggest question of the week: Christina Ashe, a lovely model/influencer/genius behind Ashe Cosmetics (tbh I  _ love  _ her stuff!!!). If you’re unfamiliar with the relevance, just check out  Wentzstina  on basically any social site ever. Basically, she and Pete started dating a few years into the hiatus and everyone thought it was pretty serious. Apparently, they met at some party at A&K and hit it off right away. There’s a pretty popular Pete quote where he said he’d call her his dream girl but “not even my dreams are as good as she is.” Really sweet! He would also do interviews where he said she pretty easily figured out how to talk him out of his anxiety attacks and was always excited to hear the new songs. In return, she described him as the “Peter Pan to my Wendy.” A few months after dating, she got the same Neverland tattoo on her finger and it was actually super cute. She interacted a ton with fans online and would post amazing pics from the studio and from backstage. She always claimed that Pete was an unrecognized genius of our time and admitted that she had a huge crush on him way before even meeting him. They’re such a fairytale haha (kinda…)
> 
> It’s theorized that Pete wrote a few songs about her (particularly [Favorite Record](https://youtu.be/DRBKIrhZMjg?t=31) and [Uma Thurman](https://youtu.be/hipFGoni6Js?t=103) ) and even wanted to propose (there was an IG post where he captioned it something with rings but it’s since been taken down…)
> 
> They were together for a few years and they were OTP goals for  _ everyone  _ whether or not they shipped it but then things got… weird. After the proposal theories, (like, a few weeks after), Christina and Pete kinda disappeared from social media? And this was in June 2014, during an album cycle, and they just stopped posting anything. The other guys were online a ton (this was, like, peak Patrick twitter Q&A days) but these two just stopped. And then there were paparazzi pics of Christina moving out of Pete’s house (we never even knew she moved in, though it was kinda obvious from selfies. Still. Never official). Everyone kinda assumed what was going on but then… they posted their break-up messages. They never said why it happened, just that there were differences they couldn’t work out but, like. They had been dating for years at that point? Idk, it was weird. And then the album came out and there were obvious Wentzstina songs on it (like the ones mentioned above) so he clearly really did love her. But there was also Novocaine which  _ ouch _ , okay? “I don’t feel a thing for you?” It made a lot of ppl think that there were problems way before we saw anything.
> 
> And then Christina disappeared for a year or so. When she came back, she deleted everything about Fall Out Boy from her pages,  _ blocked  _ them (or so we assume due to Pete saying he tried reaching out with no answer), and moved on with a new relationship and a new fucking job as a makeup person. People say she was using Pete but I personally don’t think that’s the case.

> Anyway. Yeah. You can look up deeper details about that story on your own bc there’s some more weirdness now!! Remember, Christina basically purged FOB from her life but now it seems like she’s diving back in. Just a few days ago, she apparently messaged one of the Missing Patrick conspiracy pages on twitter and asked for more information. We don’t know exactly what she’s looking for or why but we’ll definitely let you know once we figure it out. It’s a weird move but I don’t think anyone’s expecting anything bad. Most likely, she’s just curious because this is a huge thing and, like it or not, this band was a huge part of her life for a few years. 
> 
> So. Yeah. We’ll keep you informed but we do want to stress that you all make sure to leave her alone!! The breakup ruined her a bit (see the year-long travel to, like, fucking Europe or something AND the blocking. Girl was devastated) so we want to prove that our fandom isn’t as bad as she might think it is. Right now, she knows just as much as we do— which isn’t much at all.
> 
> _ #Wentzstina??? #Christina Ashe #Pete Wentz #MissMissingPatrick #info #fandom history #message for more details! _

**52 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 11 _

From: Patrick Stump

To: Christina Ashe

Texts Sent: Monday, March 11, 6:29 AM

> I know you’ve seen the news. I know you’ve heard from others. I know you know that Pete will find out.
> 
> I know you’ve been wanting this for a long time and I hope you let it happen.
> 
> When are you available to meet?
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

_ March 12 _

 

#  **Christina Ashe cancels appearance at Fashion Magazine’s Makeup Mogul Panel Event**

By  **Donavon Anne** —  March 12, 2019

 

If you were hoping to see the ever elusive Christina Ashe in the flesh, your dreams might be a bit crushed after today. The model’s planned appearance at LA’s first ever makeup convention— hosted by Fashion Magazine— was abruptly canceled this morning. 

  
It’s expected that Ashe’s absence will be forgiven— she’s voted one of the most gorgeous models and is part of the top five most successful makeup moguls— but it’s unknown whether it will be explained. Ashe has been  tweeting and posting  excitedly about this event for months. What’s changed?  **(** **Read More** **)**

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 12 _

It’s cold in Christina’s house. Patrick wasn’t expecting that. Since arriving here with Pete, he hadn’t expected he’d be able to feel much of anything. Sometime in the drive here, nothingness had chased his fear away; even now, only the bite of the cold lets him know he’s truly awake.

She hadn’t been the one to let them in a few moments ago, a close friend opening the door with shrewd eyes and pursed lips. Pete had stiffened beside him, his hand around Patrick’s wrist suddenly feeling like a shackle, but no one said a thing. Christina’s friend did nothing more than lead them in and leave without even a breath exchanged.

“What are we doing here?” Pete asks, his voice trembling as he whispers into the living room air. Each shudder of each syllable is another accusation, another question he can’t possibly want answered. Patrick hears every one, hears the way Pete thinks of those videos to be released, thinks of the threats Patrick made. Panic flutters to life in his throat when he turns to meet Pete, the proof of where they are and what they’re doing sinking into Patrick with a steady sting. His breath catches in his throat and doesn’t release.

_ Was she after me, too?  _ Pete’s eyes ask when they meet his, seeking warmth in ice-cold blue.  _ Are you here to prove that the one other person I loved was only ever a spy? How did you find out? How did you get her to stop? How did you convince her to tell me now? _

_ How _ , Pete asks but Patrick doesn’t see any  _ Why.  _ All the wrong questions, all the wrong times. He blinks at Pete, slow and apologetically. Pete’s frown deepens.

They both turn to face the clicking sound coming from down the hall.

Patrick distinctly remembers the day he met Christina, introduced in the studio days before they planned for leaving on Monumentour. He’d arrived after another meeting with the men who own his soul, his hands dirtier than before and his pockets filled with secrets that weren’t his to know.

From the studio couch, Pete had risen, a lovely blonde girl at his side. He’d been smiling, bright and nervous, as if he’d brought her home to meet his family. Patrick had seen pictures of Christina before, had heard her name on Pete’s lips, but it wasn’t like this. It never felt real until that moment.

She was a shy girl, bubbling over with excitement as she stammered her name and shook Patrick’s hand with a flimsy grip. Roses swirled onto her cheeks and curls bounced above her shoulders, her voice too sharp for the wide-eyed way she looked upon Patrick for approval. 

When Patrick shook her hand and tried to remember when Pete told him she was coming— if Pete told him she was coming— he noted the slenderness of her wrist, the flutter of her fingers when she pulled away, the dainty cut of her manicured nails. She paled easily, he thought, when he forgot to be polite, turning to ask Pete about her presence. He didn’t mean to be so harsh about it, didn’t mean to sound dismissive, but something about Christina’s loveliness had set him on edge, like a spider gazing upon a butterfly. She was free and beautiful and here he was, caught in a web of his own making. He could never be as delicate as that.

Of course, he soon learned that the spider exists for a reason entirely separate from the butterfly and he didn’t need daintiness at all; he just needed the ability to see his web.

Tonight, as she enters the room, Christina has forgone all delicateness as well. The sleeves of her simple white button-up blouse rolled up above her elbows, the locks of white-blonde hair cascading in unbrushed waves down back, her cherry-shaded lips sharp at the edge and plump in the center— she’s nothing like the girl from years ago. Perhaps it’s Patrick’s guilt gnawing at his vision or maybe it’s his fear muddling his mind but, tonight, Christina’s terrifying in a way she’s never been before.

Beside him, Pete chokes on his breath, subtle enough only Patrick hears. Patrick’s hand twitches with the habit of reaching to comfort him, to rub his arm or grab his hand, but Christina’s steely eyes stop him. What does Pete see, Patrick wonders? Surely, he can’t see the same force of nature before him, can’t hear the power sizzling from her skin. Maybe he sees only the smudge of makeup around her eyes, the bruise peeking out from the side of her ankle, the tug of black jeans against her legs when she takes one step forward. Maybe he sees the curl of her hands around her arms, crossed over her chest, digging in like there’s something to find beneath her skin.

Maybe he sees the ring locked around her finger. Maybe he sees how she won’t look at him.

A second passes. A heartbeat passes. 

Christina leans against the wall, her shoulder pressed into the paint like she’s holding it up. 

“Fucking bold of you to show up,” she says in a voice like smoke, like fire, like trees burning to a crisp. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

_ Neither did I _ , Patrick wants to say but he knows it’d be a lie. Instead, he shrugs and hopes he doesn’t look as small as he feels.

“Who’s your friend?” He asks, delaying the conversation he’s been delaying for weeks, for months, for years. “I thought it’d be obvious that no one else should know.”

“And I thought it’d be obvious that I wouldn’t care about your demands,” Christina snaps in a way she never has before. She was always the angel to Pete’s devil, people would say, smoothing everything over with a pretty voice and caring grin. Beside him, Pete jerks like he’s been slapped. “Not anymore.”

She’s not wasting time, not edging into the territory like Patrick had half-hoped she would. She’s a light bursting through shadows and finding any pest that dares to hide. She’s staring straight into Patrick’s soul with those eyes of hers, those eyes that were maybe made to be next to Pete.

Patrick doesn’t dare look away. Maybe he’ll turn to stone if he does, Christina’s eyes the only thing keeping him here.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, wincing as his voice hits the air like an untuned instrument. “I know it doesn’t mean anything now, it doesn’t change it but…”

“But now you’ve been caught and you want to minimize the damage you did.” There’s a laugh hiding somewhere in her words, somewhere behind the hurt and betrayal she hasn’t left behind. It’s the laugh of a fire about to start, the laugh of a star before it plummets to the earth will all the dust and spark it has. “Isn’t that right, Patrick? You want to make an excuse to him, to me? You want to forgive and then forget? You want to be friends again?”

“No.” Patrick gave up hope on that the second Sin showed him the dirt they’ve kept on him. “I’m just here to apologize. And to warn you both about what’s going to happen.”

“Patrick, what’s going on?” Pete speaks, at last, sounding pained as he does so. If Patrick had any more of his heart to feel, he imagines it would hurt at the wounded tone. “You’ve been secretive since this entire thing began but I was okay with it because it never really included me. It might have… It might have been  _ about  _ me but it never… I’m not okay with it anymore.”

When Patrick looks over, his eyes are velvet and his voice is silk— both of them are tearing at the seams. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

There’s more silence, as thick and heavy as a bitter thought, and Patrick sinks into it like an old friend. Christina catches his eye, some of that age-old fury fading when they slide over to Pete. With a sigh, she shoves away from the wall and sits awkwardly on the edge of the recliner across from them. She’s a bit less horrifying this way, less the bloody ghost she was before.

“Do you want to tell him? Or should I?” She speaks as if she’s speaking to Pete, though the words are for Patrick. They’re the way one would speak to a child and Patrick chokes at the sound.

“Tell me  _ what? _ ” Pete’s anger and annoyance clash with his desperation and Patrick can’t look at him, can’t bear to see the accusation in his eyes. “If she was working for them, just say it! If she was out to get me, I can take it. She already hurt me, right? So—”

“No.” Patrick can’t listen a second longer, can’t let Christina— who hasn’t shut him out, who hasn’t torn him apart— be dragged down in such an undeserved way. Pete cuts off with a pained sound and Patrick hates himself for dragging it out of him. “She didn’t hurt you. I did.”

Patrick can hear Pete’s confusion like static trickling down a line, can feel his lack of comprehension like a blow bruising his skin. “What?”

Patrick looks into Christina’s eyes, maybe imagining he’ll find salvation. Pete called her an angel, a dream, and Patrick can see it in the way she turns her head, not forcing him to face his mistakes for longer than he needs. When there’s nothing more to see, nothing more to pretend, Patrick looks at Pete until his vision blurs.

“I made her break up with you.” The words have no right to sound so sure, so careless as they crash into the air with all the grace of a symphonic climax. “I was jealous— I’ve always been jealous— and being with The Cult… It made me realize that I could finally  _ do  _ something about it. She was perfect and you loved her and you were going to propose—” And Patrick cuts off, not seeing anything but those darker days, those days wrapped in agony and every desire, those days tormented and prodded by his wants and his greeds. His skin burns with the memory of it, painting him with the judgment of the people he destroyed. “And I decided I would rather risk my soul than see that happen.”

“So he did.” Christina lounges back against the arm of the chair, one hand raised as if she should have a cigarette hanging from her curled fingers. “He called me over one morning and— Well, you remember, right? I thought we were friends and I was so proud that we were. Everyone knows that you two are practically a package deal so it felt like a victory when Patrick and I were finally close. I was a fool.” She says it with no real condemnation at herself, though her eyes are filled with regret when Patrick glances over. Her hand drops slowly into her lap, some of the light in her eyes fading with it.

Patrick bites his lip, chasing away the memory of Christina’s unapologetic search after his approval. She’d made it seem like one word from him would have Pete packing her away but she couldn’t be further from the truth. Patrick hadn’t tried to convince Pete that Christina was bad for him because it was wrong. Christina was perfect. And Patrick burned inside because of it.

Pete’s eyes tick with the inner mechanics of a clock, flashing with each second as if counting down to some great explosion. Patrick can see him working it out, can watch him blissfully ignoring everything that says Patrick might have—

“So you just asked her to leave me and she went away.” His voice is in that place between disbelief and unattached, coming from his body but not sounding like him at all. “You told her that you wanted her gone and—”

“And it didn’t work. I knew it wouldn’t work.” Patrick’s eyes flick between Christina and Pete, both watching him with different forms of intrigue. “So I did what The Culture taught me. I showed up to our meeting with secrets. Her secrets. Nothing… Nothing like what I did to some of the others but…”

“But enough to ruin my career,” Christina says. “Enough to convince me you’d leave, anyway. You always thought I was perfect, Pete, and I wasn’t.” 

Christina cuts off, her voice slipping back into that infatuated girl she was when Patrick met her; back into that helpless fool she was when Patrick held a mirror up to who she was. He turns to face Pete only so he doesn’t have to look at the one person who deserves to hate him most in this world.

“It’s not my place to share what she did but I found out about addictions and questionable statements from her past. I made it look worse and we both knew that if I told you she was doing something wrong you’d believe me. Not immediately, no, but… You’d end up believing  _ me _ .” They pass the story back and forth, pages from a book that should have been burned long ago.

“Now, I don’t want you thinking it wasn’t a fight— it was. It lasted most of the day and, at one point, I tried to call you, to let you know what he was trying to do. But you didn’t answer.” Christina pauses, chews on the inside of her lip, and then looks at Pete. “And that’s when he brought you into it. There was one moment that changed my mind. Do you want to know what it was?”

Almost imperceptibly, Pete nods, the slightest twitch of his head. 

Patrick meets Christina’s eyes and quotes what he said all those years ago.

“Pete’s already been betrayed by everyone. He’s been hated and he’s been hurt and he’s been judged and you know that better than most,” he says, still believing every word. “Your secrets will be found one day, whether or not I release them. Do you really want to put Pete through all that again? Do you really want to make him face all this? Do you want to watch him torn apart and know it was your fault? Don’t you love him?”

“Yes.” Christina’s eyes are on Pete and she’s not speaking in the past anymore. “I do.”

But her ring glistens like a setting sun; her voice falls like a star through the sky.

And Pete shudders like a planet about to implode.

He’s silent and there are no more stories to fill the air, no more secrets Patrick has a right to share. There are things Patrick knows, things he knows will snap everything like a rubber band cut before it can burst, and all that’s left is for Christina to say it.

And she will. Even if she’s kinder than Patrick deserves, even if she’s been more graceful than he’d thought, she’ll say it. For her sake; for her family’s sake.

When Pete speaks, it’s with all the held back power of water against a dam, words rushing and flowing but never hitting anything the way they’d like. It’s with the wind against trees that have already lost their leaves; it’s with a storm upon an empty house.

“Where does everyone get the idea that I’m weak?” He trembles as he speaks, staring first at Christina and then at Patrick. “I didn’t need either of you to believe you were protecting me from anything. Not from some cult and not from each other. I didn’t need to be left in the dark for so long. I didn’t… I don’t fucking  _ deserve  _ this.”

“I know,” Patrick says uselessly, staring at Pete because they’re nearing the part where he hates him, the part where he’ll never see Pete again. “I know and I would do anything to take it back. You shouldn’t have had the person you love ripped from you like that and I would take it all back in a heartbeat, I swear. I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t matter but Pete’s eyes soften like it does.

Patrick’s hands tremble as he folds them in his lap, fidgeting and biting his lips as Pete’s scan over him. Pete’s supposed to hate him now, supposed to want him gone— why hasn’t he done any of that yet? A shiver shakes through Patrick, the cold coming through once again. He inhales a shallow breath and struggles for another.

His heart dares to burst when Pete simply sighs.

“Stop acting like I’m going to hate you,” Pete says, though each word sounds like a struggle to get out. “I’ve always loved  _ you _ — Christina knew that, that’s why she wanted to make sure you liked her. Everyone knows I’ve always loved you, whether or not I knew it, too. Do you really doubt me so much? What you did was wrong and I don’t want to forgive you, I don’t want to pretend it’s okay, but it couldn’t make me hate you.”

With each word, Patrick breaks. With each belief, he tears apart. A burning dampness springs to his eyes and he shakes his head helplessly as Christina watches with misplaced pity in her face.

“You don’t understand,” Patrick says, sounding like he’s begging. “I took  _ everything.  _ And nothing I do will ever replace it. I knew what I was doing, I knew what the price would be, but I didn’t care. I could give you excuses but they don’t matter because whatever pain I felt in the hiatus, whatever loneliness I convinced myself I had— none of it compares to what I brought to you.”

“What? You? You’re not evil,” Pete presses, leaning towards Patrick and taking his hands though he hesitates at first. “We can work it out. We can talk about it. I told you I wasn’t going to lose you again. You aren’t going to run away from me. You think this ruined my life? I’ve always been waiting for you. Stop trying to make me hate you.”

Pete stumbles over her his words and his eyes flash as if he’s trying to figure out if he believes himself. Patrick’s numb all over, Pete’s hands tightening around his own and only feeling like the teasing press of air.

“I’m just trying to make you see.” Patrick’s voice drops to an urgent breath, his throat tying up into a painful knot as he waits for damnation to fall. Pete’s eyes now are so insistent; how will they look when they learn the truth? 

“What?” Pete sounds almost angry, almost scared, and Patrick can’t hold back his broken gasps any longer. “What do you think you took?”

Over Pete’s shoulder, Patrick sees Christina and her heartbroken face. Slowly, as their eyes meet, she nods. 

This, he decides, is her payback, her revenge. Making him say it, making him face Pete and say it— this is what he can do to prove how sorry he is.

“Pete.” Patrick pulls his hands back, certain he’s seconds away from physically falling apart. He forces himself to meet Pete’s eyes; he owes him that much. “Pete, I took away your son.”

Pete doesn’t seem to understand at first, still watching Patrick as if waiting for him to speak. But, slowly and surely, his expression crumples into something undefined.

“Don’t be like that,” he says, his voice nothing but a sound. “I don’t have a son.”

Patrick shakes his head, a storm among Pete’s utter stillness. “Not that you know of but… but you do. You do and I made sure you never knew.”

Pete doesn’t break the way Patrick thought he would— he doesn’t explode or fall apart. He simply freezes over, tense and stiff, and cracks form along his skin, shattering through him with tiny pressure points of understanding and betrayal.

“No,” he says, pulling away and standing up. Patrick realizes distantly that, maybe, Pete will never touch him again. “No, I… I would know.”

He’s not looking at Patrick anymore, not speaking to him as he faces Christina. Christina’s pity fades as she stands and crosses the room to be before Pete.

“No, it’s true. He… I told him before he ever made those threats to me. I wanted to surprise you and I wanted to know how. That’s what I thought we were meeting for. I thought I was going to plan out that surprise.” She’s more controlled with her tears than Patrick is, only shaking when she looks at Pete. “When I left, he told me not to tell you, that it’d just make it impossible for you to let me go. And I didn’t want to risk anything, didn’t want to push him by not listening, so. So, I left and I disappeared and I had this beautiful baby boy and no one knows about him but my family and a few close friends.” Her words tremble more now, bursting with everything she ever wanted to tell Pete. “He’s so handsome, though! He just turned four a few weeks ago and his eyes are just like yours. I named him Lewis, after you, and his middle name is Slightly— like the lost boy, we talked about that, remember? He loves Peter Pan, he watches it every night before bed and… And, god, if you could just see him, you would love him. I had to leave him with a friend tonight but you can meet him sometime if you want.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, and slows down. “We watch your stuff, too. I don’t think he understands yet but he loves your videos and concerts and music. I think it’s just in his blood to love his dad.”

At the last word, Pete recoils back like he’s been shot, like he’d been trying to play it tough but his walls were made to break from the beginning. He’s caught off-guard, caught in disbelief and pain, but it doesn’t take long for both of them to meld into something darker, something Patrick’s been trying not to see. 

“He’s four?” Pete’s eyes shimmer and shine and it’s so much lovelier than Patrick’s hiccuping breaths on the couch. “He’s four and I’ve never seen him? He’s four and you never reached out and—”

Christina draws back from his anger, her arms dropping to her side as her eyes flick to Patrick like she’s not trying to blame him, like she’s trying to save him from this. She’s always been too good, too kind. After everything, she’s still trying for Patrick’s grace and liking. “I… I was scared, I—”

“I told her not to,” Patrick says, the words certain though he shakes. “That’s all. She’s not to blame.”

“No. No, she isn’t, is she?” Pete asks, turning on Patrick with a stranger’s eyes. Pete’s never looked at him like  _ that  _ before. “How could you? How… How could  _ you _ ?”

Yes, because Patrick knew how Pete wanted a family with her, how he had the rings picked out and home all planned. Because Patrick spent years watching Pete grow into someone who would be a wonderful father. Because Patrick could see the happy family all too clearly.

How could he? 

Because he’s selfish. Because he’s cruel. Because he has too many excuses but none of them matter when Pete’s lost four years of his son’s life.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says instead of an apology, rubbing at his cheeks until they burn, until tears keep coming and prove they won’t stop. Pete scoffs and steps away and Patrick’s heart twists and burns, pounding against his chest like an offering to make up for what he’s done. He could never make Pete believe that it was love because love wouldn’t do that, love would never drive someone to that. Better to let things crash and burn than lose himself in the insanity of trying to pretend it’s alright. “What matters it that Sin is going… Sin’s going to post what I did and that means he’s going to reveal Lewis to the world just to get to me. And I thought I kept it all secret, thought I was clever when I told Christina to leave, but they found out. They found out and that’s how they kept me— behave or you would know what I did. Behave, or your kid ended up on the news and, god, I never wanted that.”

“Right. Because it makes all the difference what you want, no matter what you did. Do… Do you realize? The world’s going to know my son before I have the chance to even see him myself?” Pete stops, breathing heavily, as if he’d just realized it as he said it. He covers his mouth and chokes down a gasp, eyes red-rimmed and burning. It’s everything Patrick had expected to see and it’s killing him from the inside out. 

He was never going to be free from The Culture and they knew that. They knew that the way to him was through Pete, knew that Patrick can’t last without him. Because no Pete means no more band and the last time Patrick was alone he sold his soul. The last time he was alone, he perfected the idea of self-destruction. Already, he can feel the descent into self-hatred and guilt— each second of it more than deserved because no pain he feels will ever match Pete and Christina’s. 

Nothing will make up what he did to Lewis, a young boy with a father who never knew his name.

“You know, it’s funny,” Pete says, twitching as he speaks, shrugging and flailing his hands. “You were right. You always end up being right. You ruined my life, in some way. You proved that you’re not who I think you are. You proved that I really could hate you and that’s the worst part of it all.”

If Patrick ever thought he expected the blossom of pain between his ribs, the explosion and devastation within his chest, he was wrong. He thought he knew what it felt like to be hated, to be cast aside, to be hurt. He thought he was ready. He spent years telling himself he was ready.

But this? This isn’t like anything he’s felt before.

Though he knew it was coming, his mouth parts in a scream that can’t be heard, a deep inhale as if his breath had been stolen for good. His body folds in on itself and he crumbles, he crashes, he shatters like something precious tossed to the ground. He burns and he cries and he can’t escape Pete’s words flooding through him like a poison sent to kill— a poison he took himself though the bottle was handed to him by Sin and every other evil.

Pete hates him. Pete  _ hates  _ him. Pete said that he hates him and, no matter their fights or their arguments, Pete’s never said that before. And, because of this, Patrick realizes he’d been hoping he’d been wrong; he’d been hoping Pete wouldn’t grant him the punishment he knows he deserves.

Patrick thinks of every kiss he’s stolen this week, every tender moment. He tries to remember what it felt like to be free— before his mistakes, before The Culture, before Sin and all his temptations.

But he can’t. Because, he knows, he was always going to end up here, one way or another.

So, when Pete says he hates him? Patrick has only one response.

“I know,” he says through humiliating tears and sobs, through the screaming and shouting now echoing throughout the home. He doesn’t hear a word of their anger but he feels each cry like a physical blow, like bruises forming on his skin for him to press on later. “It’s okay. I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 13 _

**PW** _ @petewentz _

Did you ever love him, do you know? Or did you just never want to be alone?

 

 **PW**   _@petewentz_

Let me know when you figure it out. I'll do the same.

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 13 _

 

**Chicago Breaking News** _ @chicago_breaking _

Pete Wentz returns home following visit with missing singer’s family. 

Patrick Stump’s whereabouts are still unknown— police claim safe return unlikely.

Wentz refused to comment.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh GOD that took forever. I'm tired. Wish me luck with existing tomorrow *peace sign here*
> 
> Also, let me know what you think! Pete's back home but Patrick's gone-- what's up with that? Where did Patrick go? What will Patrick do?
> 
> I love all your comments! Have a wonderful day/night!


	7. March 14 - May 1 (Are You Punishing Me?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So are you clever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is really long. I apologize both to you and myself.
> 
> 2\. I had to completely rewrite the ending three times because I absolutely hated how I wrote it the first few times.
> 
> 3\. If this is late it is because of a horrible mix of my laziness, my homework, and new Netflix series.
> 
> 4\. We're at the end! Ha ha ha..... I hope you like it. I went with what felt right and I hope that you get what I was going for. Or that you even enjoy this in any way. Thank you to everyone who has commented and who has stuck around on this crazy thing and, uh, keep an eye out for that thing at the end. I obviously hate myself so that will be important later.
> 
> 5\. I highly suggest you try clicking some of these links.
> 
> <><>
> 
> Playlist:  
> \- Hopeless Romantics by Make Out Monday  
> \- Icarus by Emma Blackery  
> \- Weight of the World by Skar  
> \- Far Too Young to Die by Panic! At The Disco  
> \- Guide You Home (I Would Die For You) by Rebecca Knebuhl & Gabriel Mann  
> \- Twin Skeleton's (Hotel In NYC) by Fall Out Boy

_ March 14 _

 

The worst part about being home is that it feels like it should be the end. 

Pete’s only been back a handful of hours— maybe a day, maybe a night— but it doesn’t feel like it’s been as short as it’s been. Wandering around the place that he and Patrick planned to share, he doesn’t feel as if he belongs.

When he left this place, he had imagined it was to embark on some grand journey. Maybe he’d discover something horrible on the way but, he thought, he wouldn’t return until it was to claim the ending of the tale. A hero stumbling through old familiar doors, leaning against walls that have always held him up, falling into a bed with the person he left to save.

Now, he can barely look at anything but the floor. He sleeps on the couch because it’s easier than walking past memories on the way to his room. He bruises and bloodies his knuckles on door frames and walls, waiting for the house, too, to fall apart. Everything else has left and abandoned him, why not this?

A day after the worst day of his life, his eyes still feel like sand from the tears he cried. His body’s still sore from the tension he’s been carrying.

His throat still burns from how he screamed at Patrick.

_ Patrick _

God, the name is like a virus in his veins, making him sick and feverish. Collapsed on his couch with the lights shut off, he tries not to focus on any memory that name might bring up. 

At Christina’s, Pete had left before Patrick but, first, he screamed. He shouted and he cursed and he begged to understand how Patrick, of all people, could do this. Was he forced, was he tricked, was he out of his fucking mind? Pete saw red and then he saw nothing but the way Patrick sat silently and took each berating word.

Somehow, the unresponsiveness was worse than if Patrick had tried to defend what he did. If he had given excuses or lies or something other than the guilt pouring out of him. No matter what Pete said, he knew Patrick was already thinking and feeling something worse. Crying quietly and accepting Pete’s hatred, nails digging into his skin as if to shut out every word, cheeks burning and lips trembling, Patrick looked pathetic. He wasn’t the evil mastermind Christina’s story had made him out as, not the manipulative character he’d confessed to being. He was Patrick and he was falling apart and Pete cut off in the middle of another hateful rant, eyes following one crystal tear as it dripped off Patrick’s cheek, splashing against his wrist.

It was then that Pete left. If he stayed, he knew his instincts to protect Patrick would take over, as certain as night’s love for day, and he left.

He doesn’t know where Patrick went after that, doesn’t know what’s left in his plan. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know if Patrick has a plan or if it’ll work if he does. After all, Patrick thought Pete would be the one to tell him to leave but the thought never once crossed Pete’s mind.

Christina had messaged him shortly after the press found out about his return, asking if he was okay. 

Pete’s still trying to figure out what to say when the phone buzzes again— this time with the image of a young brown-eyed boy.

_ Lewis _ , the text reads.  _ Lewis Slightly. _

He’s got that mix of brown and blonde on his head, the roots dark but edging more towards Christina’s shade as it nears the end. He’s small, thin, and the picture seems to have been taken at a party. A gymnastics place where kids can jump trampolines into foam pits or climb nets all the way up to the ceiling. Lewis is posed on the edge of one such trampoline, smiling down with tiny teeth and his arms stretched out to the side. Dressed in green with a party hat tucked onto his head, Pete can only assume it was from his birthday a while ago. When did Christina say it was? A few weeks back? Fuck, Pete doesn’t even know his son’s birthday.

But he knows his eyes are a deep brown when they’re squinted into a cheesy smile. He knows his hair’s maybe longer than it should be, curling at the ends and tucking behind his ears. He knows he looks lovely in the color green.

He knows he exists and it’s more than he knew a week ago.

Pete runs his thumb across the picture, ignoring the new text that asks if Pete would like to meet him. Of course he wants to meet his son but, first, he wants to process everything that’s happened.

Pressing his finger into a picture on his phone brings up sour memories of doing the same to Patrick’s image back when he was missing, back when he was gone, back when he was nothing more than a lost love. 

Pete could ask if Patrick knew how horrible his actions were but, the thing is, he already knows. Patrick knows Pete better than anyone so he must have known the exact cracks that would shape on Pete’s heart when he knew the truth, must have known the sleepless nights and haunted days to follow.

He knew Pete would hate him. Yet he told him anyway.

It stings when Pete thinks of the confession because then he wonders if Patrick ever would have told him or if Pete would have had to wait until Lewis was old enough to hunt down his dad on his own. Patrick jumped into action when he saw the walls closing in and, sure, he showed remorse but he never showed proof that he would have told Pete anytime else if given the opportunity.

Instead, he let Pete love him until the very last second. He kissed him and he held him and he fucked him all while knowing what would come at the end. And Pete went along with it, blind and foolish, playing around with a fire that used his life as the kindling. 

There were once theories that certain celebrities were killed and replaced. Pete would laugh about his own— a particular youtube video claiming that overnight he just stopped being “cute”—  but it doesn’t seem too unlikely now.  _ His  _ Patrick would never join such a terrible cult, never be so selfish in his desires.  _ His  _ Patrick— his Rickster, his Lunchbox, his one shining star— would never react with such malice to someone who brings Pete such joy, would never tear apart a family before it has a chance to form.

His Patrick would never love Pete enough to do any of those. Or, at least, that’s what Pete thought for years.

But is it love, Pete wonders? Or is it an obsession that’s been fuelled for too long?

Pete knows about obsession, knows the way jealousy and envy chased each other through his veins every time he was reminded Patrick wasn’t his. He remembers nights where his knuckles ached to meet the face of whatever nameless bastard had Patrick crawling into the back of the van with a lazy limp and satisfied grin. He remembers violent words and worse thoughts, wanting to tear the skin from his bones if it meant he could get rid of the part that yearned so greatly for something he could never have.

But he doesn’t remember ever wishing to be able to do something like this. He only ever wished for things that would destroy himself. And, when put like that, are he and Patrick so different, after all?

Pete rolls over on the couch. Outside, there’s the lightest patter of rain against the windows.

He wonders where Patrick is, if he has more to his plan or if he’s done— if there are more lies that Pete will never know. He wonders if he’ll ever see him again or if that cult he pissed off is as powerful as he says— if Pete lost his chance to say goodbye, to work things out, to make the wrongest thing right.

Outside, thunder crackles with a threat across the sky. He wonders if Patrick is somewhere he can hear it, too.

And, as Pete shuts off his phone and curls up as if to ease the pain cutting through his chest, he wonders why he cares.

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 15 _

 

#  **Patrick Stump evidence to be publicly released later this week**

By **Austin Frisch** — March 15, 2019

 

Following the confirmation by police organizations, various news and media sources have announced their plans to publicly post the Patrick Stump evidence delivered a few days ago.

 

The files uploaded are expected to be a collection of footage and images from the singer-songwriter’s life, most of them following the recent “exposure” culture surrounding other celebrities these days.

 

“It’s best that we stay honest and true with our readers,” Jenna Lost, Editor-in-Chief of  _ The Musician,  _ a popular music magazine, said in a statement released early this morning. “As people and as a publication, we don’t support the toxicity of cancel culture that is sure to follow future revelations. However, we also can’t support the protection of someone who is not the victim the world is making them out to be.”

 

Emily Wall, host of MTV’s gossip show  _ Wall to Wall _ , also shared her plans to post and discuss Stump’s evidence.

 

“It’s going to be a game-changer in this case, for sure. But I do want to clarify that I’m not doing this for any sort of mean reason,” Wall said. “I honestly just think it’s something we should share. However, I do urge that we make sure not to jump to conclusions. I don’t want any cruel judgment to appear as a result of these documents. Remember, Patrick isn’t here and we still don’t know the full story.”

  
The documents and evidence are expected to be uploaded approximately a week from now. **Subscribe** to our page for immediate updates on the situation!

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 15 _

**Casey loves Hallie** _ @paxambxtch _

I feel sick I don’t want them to post the Patrick stuff I don’t want to see people hate him I don’t want to be here when that happens :( someone dm me please I’m going to have a panic attack over this oh my god

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 15 _

` Sin, `

` It feels fitting that you be the first to know of Patrick Stump’s current whereabouts. You shared goals, you and he… didn’t you? The difference, of course, being his conflicting feelings about our methods but, in the end, he was Culture and his betrayal has been… shocking, to say the least. The public doesn’t know how to see him; is he their cautionary tale or is he some fun murderous story to share? Neither defines Patrick.  ~~You told us Patrick wasn’t like the rest of~~ — I never worked closely with him but I could tell that no one has a true grasp on who he is; none except, perhaps, you and Peter Wentz. It makes no sense that anyone else could define him. Why then? Why would he turn on us so suddenly? Why would he leave after all we have helped him to gain, all we have taught him to do? It doesn’t make sense. I refuse to believe he played any of us for a fool. `

` He’s confessed to all his crimes to the involved parties. He’s been in and out of our sight but my team and I saw that much.  ~~ We should have stopped him before he had the chance, we should have taken him back by force, we should not have waited as you claimed. Sin, I could have had him dead by now, you absolute  ~~ We watched him leave Christina’s house. He was alone. He was  ~~ broken  ~~ careless. He must have seen us watching but he did nothing. We believed he was returning home so I gave the word for the information, the evil he’s done, to be released; forgive me, he was gone again by morning. We searched his home.  ~~ It’s been empty for so long, it’s nearly depressing, it’s  ~~ This hunt, this calculated attack against one man— it is like nothing the cult has never seen. `

` What is your fascination with his complete destruction?  ~~This double-edged obsession of yours— it almost feels like care, like you…~~   Nevertheless, the world will be his witness; the world will reveal their judgment. He is not so innocent and, at last, those closest to him will see.  ~~ And when they hate him, will that be enough for you? Is that what you want? ~~ `

` As always, we await your victory. As always, we rally around you and praise your cunning in this most unexpected turn of events. We can only hope that we find Patrick before it ends.  ~~ Or maybe we will never see him again and we will all be better for it. You will no longer mourn your turned pet and the rest of us can take his place as favorite. Until you drive us too far the way you demanded too much of  ~~ `

~~~~

`Pete Wentz returned home alone. It is strange, how easily one can turn on someone they once loved, how deeply betrayal stings.`

`I suppose no one could blame you, then, for the things you have done to Patrick in return. `

`Hurting others seems to be his habit. It’s time someone put it to an end.`

`— Paul`

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 16 _

#  **Today’s Scoop: An Interview with Christina Ashe**

By  **Ellie Martin** —  March 16, 2019

After ditching last week’s makeup event of the year, Christina Ashe took time to sit down and discuss everything from wedding plans to ex-best friends.

Ashe, CEO and owner of Ashe Cosmetics, recently announced her engagement to fashion designer Miles Jackson of MJ Industries. The two are currently planning their wedding for late spring.

“It’s all about getting both our families in the same spot,” Ashe said with a smile. “We both have huge families so managing them is a bit like running a farm. Miles is, admittedly, better at it then I am.”

Ashe and Jackson first announced their status as a couple a year after Ashe’s breakup with longtime boyfriend Pete Wentz. According to past interviews since their official announcement, Ashe met Jackson while modeling for one of his collection’s runway performances.

“They were all business suits and baggy sweatshirts,” Ashe has been quoted in past interviews. “And I… I was trying to get rid of some extra weight back then so I was thankful for the chance to, you know, cover up. And Miles still decided he wanted to talk to the model wearing the plus size blazer.”

Jackson and Ashe have been together for about two years and have become the celebrity world’s sweethearts.

“He knows a lot more about me than a lot of other people in my life,” Ashe said. “He… There are some crazy secrets he knows and he’s still at my side. He, god, he offered to ‘take out’ this guy who gave me trouble in the past!”

In regards to the past, Ashe has recently reached out to fan pages claiming sightings of Patrick Stump, best friend of her ex.

“A bit of me will always be a bit in love with Pete. I’ve talked to Miles about this and he understands it,” Ashe said. “But I’ve moved on… I had to move on. And I’m so lucky I found Miles when I did. Pete was my Peter Pan but Miles really was my knight-in-shining-armor.”

When asked about her interest in the Missing Patrick case, Ashe said it was because she still thinks fondly of Wentz.

“As I said, I care about him. So I wanted to know what was going on,” she said. “I saw a chance to search for some answers and I took it. No harm.”

Ashe also said that she knew about the “Peterick” relationship long before Wentz’s announcement a few months back.

“Oh, trust me, I knew that Patrick wanted to be with Pete,” Ashe said. “And I probably knew that before anyone else.”

  
**([Read More](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/af/14/3e/af143ed1b9a2773cd0fda61bcf37383b.jpg)** **)**

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 18 _

**PatrickStump** _ @patrickstump _

I’m so lucky to have had the love and support life has gifted me with— I could never deserve it but it was given to me all the same. Take care of each other. Be kind to each other. I believe in your goodness so much.

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 19 _

From: Pete Wentz

To: Patrick Stump

Texts Sent: Tuesday, March 19, 11:31 AM

> You can’t just disappear again. You don’t get to do that.
> 
> You said you were going home after this. Was that a lie, too?
> 
> Was there ever an end to your plan? 
> 
> I deserve a chance to talk to you again. I deserve more than this silence and worry.
> 
> You’re scaring me
> 
> You’re awful. I hate you.
> 
> Where the fuck are you???

From: Patrick Stump

To: Pete Wentz

Texts Sent: Tuesday, March 19, 11:36 AM

> We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel this is an error, please check the number dialed and try again.
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

_ March 20 _

  
  


` The past is the past and yet it’s so much more than that. It’s a foundation for what we are, what we do, what we live— it’s more than just a memory and any other belief I had was wrong. There is no such thing as forgiveness— especially when the person you need to forgive is yourself. `

`I could say that I never meant to hurt Pete but I don’t know if I would believe myself. I don’t know if I would accept the excuses I’ve been repeating for years. And even if I did… I don’t think it would matter. What’s done is done— that part, at least, is true.`

`I hate when I trick myself into thinking of years ago, of sweaty basements and grimy club shows. But there’s little else to think of when the present seems so bleak. Those darkened stages are my brightest memories and even these are marred by my own hands. `

`That kid who sang those words back then, that kid with a crush too big for his heart, that kid who saw Pete Wentz crack and crumble and loved him through it all— I wonder if he would have done what I did, too. I mean… He did do it but, I wonder, if it had been offered to him, would he have said yes right away? Or did he need to be broken first, too? `

`I know it’s a waste of time to wonder but, really, memories and unanswered questions were always my closest friends during the “hiatus”. Of course, such miserable company led to worse company; I appreciate the poetic justice. `

`That kid was bleached away, burned up beneath stage lights on his own. That kid emptied his cares into bottles and lonely nights. That kid became someone with a wish to never be abandoned again and if that came at the cost of his soul, so be it.`

`That’s all such an old story. But I do have something new now.`

`This is the last entry I’ll write. Most likely, at least. If things go horribly wrong.`

`Sin. I’ve never said his name out loud but I have read it. I’ve kept it. I’ve ` `owned ` `it.`

`We shared goals, once upon a time. He made the ending sound so nice— a world where we could keep the rest of them in line, a life where control was more than just word or wish. For a year— perhaps just a bit more— I agreed. And this made us close…`

`And that closeness is what will ruin him.`

`Sin’s the most secretive man I know but, in the end, secrets are the greatest weapons we have. He’s become obsessed with collecting them and, in that obsession, he failed to eliminate his own. `

`Maybe Pete won’t ever forgive me; maybe this won’t make Pete forgive me. That’s fine. I know I don’t deserve his forgiveness. `

`I also know that Lewis— have I a right to say his name?— doesn’t deserve to be thrust into this chaos. He doesn’t deserve to be just another pawn in The Culture’s game. `

`To think that I can destroy The Culture is madness but I don’t need to destroy them. I just need to control them.`

`And the way to control them is through Sin. `

`Twice, now, I will use what I’ve been taught for my own gain. This time, though, I go into it without pride. Knowing this, I hope the fall won’t be quite so cruel. If I must fall at all…`

`Once, Pete believed he could love me and maybe he convinced himself he did. He told me of his reciprocal crush from years back then, of the brighter memories he, too, had. Again, I’ve tainted these but this, at least, will keep the stain from sticking.`

` This won’t burn out the guilt that’s sure to follow me until the day I die— however soon or far that day may be. But it will allow me to make good on the threats I’ve made on these other evil people; it will assure I don’t go down alone. `

`I’m not stupid enough to believe I can have Pete again but the hope of it keeps me from giving myself to them entirely. I once used my love for Pete to keep me cruel and selfish; this once, I would like it to keep me gentle. I don’t know if I still have that ability— if that hidden kid still lingers here— but I’d like to find out. `

`Is that a foolish hope to have?`

`Maybe if I do this right, I’ll survive the fire I’ve created.`

`Maybe if I do this right, Pete will let me see him again. Maybe I’ll earn the right to hope for such a thing.`

`— Patrick Stump. March 20, 2019`

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 21 _

 

**yeseventhis**

> around a decade ago, something like this would be better posted on some forums or some angsty journal to be seen by thousands of faceless readers on a screen. things havent changed too much. but theyve also changed in all the wrongs ways.
> 
> i dont know where you are. i dont know if you can read this. i dont know if i want you to/want you too.
> 
> you’ve been gone, gone for days, and every traitorous part of me has noticed it. but even before then, an imposter took your place. an imposter with evil schemes and treacherous lies found room in my bed, took root in my heart. i have no doubt of how much i hate what you’ve done but, somehow, i still worry when i wake up and realize you are not by my side. you may never have been the angel i told the world you were but even demons fell from heaven; even satan once had wings. i deserve better than a demon and you deserve better than these uncertain words. but i cannot fake any certainty, just as i could never have faked my love. just as you could never haved faked your love. you told me once that you would do anything for me— even this even this even this— so i suppose you told me the truth long before either of us intended to stumble into it. it’s always the truth that hurts worse than anything else, right?
> 
> you have no right to have run off to hide. you forfeit this relationship you worked so hard on and, okay, i might not have allowed you to stay. but you owe me more than one night of truths told through tears— truths that i’ve half a mind to share, if only to catch your attention. you already took my family away from me. i will not allow you to take yourself, too. because, you must know, i have a weakness; my weakness has always been you. even though your dagger rests within it, my heart wakes and it aches for you.
> 
> i said i don’t know if i want you. i imagine that’s an easy thing for me to say when all you’ve left me with is rubble. you’ve buried yourself in regrets, so deep i may never find you, and you expect this to be a form of repentance. but the last thing i remember is your voice cracking from beneath me, your eyes looking at everywhere but the lives you’ve shattered; i should want you dead. and, you know what? a part of me does. 
> 
> i want the patrick that entered these awful deals to be dead. i want this version of you burnt and scattered like ash. i want to see this side of you stripped away like armor after a battle because, Patrick, you don’t need to fight for me anymore. give me a death but don’t give me a reason to mourn.
> 
> prove to me that you have changed from the man who stole my son and love. prove to me that that’s not you and we can start again— if only because fate has shown us that we have no choice.
> 
> my mind has become foreign to me; i wake not knowing whether i hate you but i live not knowing whether i love you. 
> 
> i won’t pretend that what i seek is anything more than the selfish return to the safety we once had; i know it can never be but i yearn for it all the same. It’s strange; despite all you’ve done, i still wonder if i have the chance to ever speak with you again. that’s all. 
> 
> i’m not saying i want you back by my side at night or even back in my home. i’m not saying things can ever go back to the way they were.
> 
> i’m just saying this: despite everything, you’re my best friend. 
> 
> what i want is simple. i just want you to be safe.
> 
> _ #PatrickStump0427 _

* * *

 

 

_ March 22 _

**panicsartbox**

> **wanderingasmr**
> 
> The Patrick stuff is supposed to be released tomorrow and I’m actually really sick about it. And I’m calling it now…. People are going to attack the fandom and the band and it’s just going to be hell. I don’t know how to prepare for something like that….. :(

Hey, make sure you’re taking care of yourself first, sweetie <3 Take some deep breaths and remember that the police wouldn’t let them share it so soon if it was really bad. If you need a distraction, though, you can always message me!!! And that goes for anyone needing some space for self care :)

_ #if anyone needs to vent to me my message box is always open #im so sorry the fandom has to go through this #i love you #the rest of the fandom loves you #your friends love you please stay safe #i love you guys stay strong #missing patrick #fob #patrick stump #missmissingpatrick #selfcare #PatrickStump0427 _

**4,216 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 22 _

**Popsound** _ @popsound _

Want to be the first to catch the Patrick Stump news when it drops? Follow our page and turn on our notifs! Popsound’s always here to keep you in the know ;)

**Celeste ~ Peterick <3 <3 ** _ @celeste_hankerman _

@popsound Are you really gonna have it posted first tho??? A ton of sites are promising to have the #missingpatrick stuff and idk I don’t wanna waste my time with a no-show report !! If anyone gets the links, can you tag me?? #missmissingpatrick

**Danny Boi** _ @itsyahboi _

@popsound “All my childhood heroes have fallen off or died.” I think this lyric points to the case? Like, think of all the celebs who’ve been exposed and how certain the police are about Patrick’s death. I just hope the new stuff gets us closer to the truth

**Yum ~ Yum** _ @stanIoona _

@popsound If it ends up being an album announcement, I called it lol

**Patrick Stump updates** _ @patrickupdating _

@popsound Guys!!! This site is wrong!! The actual evidence is being posted ONLY on legitimate news sites, not music blogs! @chicago_breaking actually has a page dedicated to the stuff. They’re posting hints about it, too :) 

**Celeste ~ Peterick <3 <3 ** _ @celeste_hankerman _

@popsound @patrickupdating WTF LINK ME I NEED TO KNOW. WHAT IS HE HIDING. WHAT WILL WE FIND. I AM CHOKING ON ANTICIPATION OH MY GODD I AM READY

**Celeste ~ Peterick <3 <3 ** _ @celeste_hankerman _

@popsouund @patrickupdating AHHHHHHHH ASIFJGBHTGRJFEORI IDK IF YOU GUYS KNWO BUT ITS BEEN POSTED OH MY FUCKING GOD ITS BEEN POSTED SOMEONE DM ME NOW I CANT BREATHE OH MY FUCKING GOD PATRICK WHT THE FUCK

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 22 _

#  **Latest in the missing Patrick case: Stump’s secret sex life and schemes**

 

 

* * *

 

 

March 23

**remember-me-for-sinturies**

> **chartrick**
> 
> Ummmm tumblr??? Can we talk about the Patrick shit because???? It’s been a few hours and I STILL CANT BREATHE.
> 
> LIKE. OH MY GOD. ARE WE LIVING IN A FIC RIGHT NOW SERIOUSLY THE SIMULATION TOSSED ITSELF OFF A FUCKING CLIFF WHAT. IS. REALITY.
> 
> I mean???? Okay, yeah, sure, whatever. He did some fucked up stuff  ~~but I was never a fan of Wentzstina anyway so whatever~~ and it feels like they’re leaving some stuff out? Like, the emails from Christina where she said that Patrick ruined Pete’s family like? Unless Patrick really had it out for Dale, I feel like we’re missing stuff. That or Christina’s just really petty lol. Either way, Pete and Patrick are happy together??? And I personally don’t think Patrick, of all people, would keep this a secret from Pete. The two are pretty much soulmates. So, uh, yeah? Don’t get what all the upset is about
> 
> Besides, we ALL know the real hot stuff are those videos like WHAT THE FUCK. Seriously, I need y’all to help me out here,,,,,, does anyone actually have a link???? None of the sites I checked had the videos posted but the descriptions were. Holy shit. Let me quote my favorite one:
> 
> “… one such video shows Stump and an unknown man seeming to be disagreeing on some form of deal, as the unknown man and Stump gesture to what appears to be a file. Seemingly incapable of convincing the stranger to hand over what he has, Stump seems to try a different tactic. Unbuttoning his shirt and smiling, he soon leads the man into a quite intense kissing session that quickly evolves into more intimate encounters on the bed, as shown by the clip… “
> 
> (also okay can we appreciate that someone had to sit down and watch that video how many times in order to write that?? I suddenly want to be a journalist. ALSO do ppl still use nosebleed because??? Uh BIG MAJOR FUCKING NOSEBLEED MY GUY)
> 
> ANyway. Um. Yeah. Any news sites with the good would be GREATLY appreciated. All my boxes are open lol

The news sites never agreed to publicly post the clips. A silly little thing called “ethics” got in the way.

No matter. Please message us. I can send you the link, so long as you promise to spread it around

Anyone else willing to do the same— our messages are always open to the willing

_ #how closely are you watching? #how invested are you in this tale? #PatrickStump0427 _

**6 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

March 23

# Singer-songwriter Patrick Stump still missing as alleged sex tapes hit the internet

By  **Charles Adam** — March 23, 2019

From Twitter to Pornhub, this week’s number one trending topic is the missing singer who disappeared early this year. 

The interest, however, isn’t in searching for him. Rather, the public has focused on a series of videos showing the singer engaging in sexual acts as described in  [ past articles . ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxLSnYwsNWs)

Originally, these videos were sent to professional news sources across the nation, according to a [past report](https://youtu.be/2TtUM6LvkCg) . It was decided not to share the content when the news was released.

“It’s our responsibility to share the truth with our readers but it is never in our job description to actively aid in the destruction of someone no longer around to defend himself,” John Byers, a journalist for an online publication, said. “It’s clear someone has a vendetta against Patrick and my personal hope was to stay out of it by refusing to publish the tapes themselves. Obviously, that wasn’t enough for the sender.”

**  
The supposed sender or senders released the tapes across various websites with instruction for recipients to “spread it around.” Since then, the videos have been uploaded to  **([Read More](https://youtu.be/IGojmtGtsiM)** **)** **

 

* * *

 

 

_ March 24 _

****

**patricksbitch94**

> Since so many people liked the last fic list I made, I decided it was my duty to make another one! A bunch of them have been made since the tapes were released— which means they’re the newest you can get! But be sure to check out some older works in the tag, too. (Trust me, there’s plenty and they’re all pretty good!)
> 
> ****
> 
> Also! If anyone needs inspiration for their own fics, feel free to message me! I have a wishlist like you wouldn’t believe. (Primarily, is it weird if I really want a fic about Pete finding out about the vids?)
> 
> ****
> 
> Disclaimer: No one is forcing you to read these fics!! Before you flame me or any of these writers for enjoying this, just realize that, like, nothing should be off limits now? If anything, we should be allowed to be more explicit lol what else did you think was gonna happen when those videos came out? 
> 
> ****
> 
> Anyway! On with the fics! Check out the list under the cut :D
> 
> ****
> 
> _ Read more _
> 
>  
> 
> _ #fic rec #this is probably gonna get me hate but whatever im just here to support the art #peterick #missmissingpatrick #PatrickStump0427 _

****

**19 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

March 25

What must it be like to watch your world burn by your own flame? To drown in the tide of your own fantasies coming back to drag you in? Does it ache? Does one’s own instinct to survive kick in, your mind and body fighting in desperation for the surface of salvation? Does your heart beat in time with each flame crossing your path? Do your lungs fill with smoke and water, tasting each version of death and rejecting both? Does the pain last very long?

Sin imagines it’d be easiest to just give up. Some of the strongest members of The Culture have fallen to pieces at the mere mention of their own destruction, falling to their knees as they begged for mercy that wouldn’t come, hands clasped together in some form of prayer. Sin has noted all the ways a person can crack— cleanly or unevenly or shattering all at once. 

Yes. It’s easiest to simply give in to whatever fire and flood may appear.

So why haven’t they heard from Patrick yet?

Sin knows Patrick, knows his heart like the mechanics of a compass. It always points to a certain North, an anchor allowing him to pretend some part of him is good.

Sin’s always known that anchor to be Pete Wentz— though, admittedly, he never knew how deep that went. But, at the end of the day, he knew Patrick worked only to keep that one man by his side, worked to fight off the loneliness that gnaws on his bones late at night. His best friend or his lover or his simple-minded crush, Pete has always led Patrick back home.

Home is where the heart is and turning Pete on him, revealing Patrick’s true nature to him, should have left Patrick with no home but the one forged in lies and crime. The Culture— the one safe haven he should have left.

Sin crosses his office, shutting down his computer as he gazes out the window of the home. He prefers hiding in the mountains, amongst the snow and trees like some animal awaiting the  attack. And he knows it’s the one hideout Patrick would know by heart.

Heart. It always comes back to Patrick’s heart. The way he uses and abuses the care he’s granted, the way he paints it in gold for the world to praise. He’s protected his image like all criminals do and, day by day, it’s being torn apart by those who are finally seeing him for what he is.

Sin imagines Patrick’s heart must be fading away by now. And he will either die or return. Sin imagines they’re both quite the same thing.

From the beginning, from the moment he signed that damned deal, Patrick’s only had the option to end up here. 

Dead. Because he relies on the love and trust of others, because he believes he cannot be his best self unless the world sees the purity first. Because he’d rather be choking on flames than his own loneliness, because he’d rather be drowned by his friends than abandoned by them because— that way— they’d still be there when the light leaves his eyes. 

Or perhaps he’ll return, his reasons for goodness all gone and turned their backs because no one can forgive a monster such as him. And Sin is the only friend who can ever understand what that’s like. Perhaps he’ll come back with fire and vengeance of his own, washing through the organization with every bluff come to life. 

_ I know your name, I know your secrets, I know who you are _ . Patrick said these things but did he mean them? When Sin took him before, when he started this domino effect, he intended to find out.

At last, the time is fast approaching.

When Patrick arrives— as a corpse or as a curse— Sin and his people will be ready. The last pawn has been used up and Sin’s grown tired of this game.

Patrick’s been useful; he no longer is. It’s as easy as wiping the board clean and looking for a new place to play.

(Though, as the sky darkens on yet another day with no news, another moment without Patrick’s whereabouts known, Sin hopes that Patrick’s going through another fire, one he only imagines when he’s no more thoughts to ponder. A fire that will burn away every piece of good heart left, the flames that will make Patrick into who Sin knows he can be— cold and callous, the best member The Culture has ever seen. 

He believes in Patrick the way no one else in the cult could. And if Patrick comes back with another deal to make, Sin won’t allow it to go to waste. 

But before Patrick can be brought back in, he must live through the fear and destruction put upon him and his life. 

He must prove he can survive the scars and live to become the leader Sin knows he can someday be.)

Closing his curtains and turning his back, Sin tucks his hand into his pocket.

A small flash drive presses back into his palm.

(Let Patrick prove himself one last time.

Or he can watch his world burn)

 

* * *

 

 

March 27

**libertyandmedia**

> People are still supporting Fall Out Boy???? In this economy??? Can’t relate oh my god
> 
> Seriously, though. This goes way beyond the realm of “ur fav is problematic.” Everyone’s talking about the fucking sex tapes and they’ve all seem to have forgotten about the fact that he blackmailed dozens of people??? Including Pete’s girlfriend??? FORCING HER TO BREAK UP WITH HIM???
> 
> Like. Holy shit. He’s bad and tbh the fact that no one in the band has addressed it makes me think that they were all aware to some degree. Maybe not about Christina— and oh my god i feel so bad for that woman— but definitely about some stuff. How fucking dare you still support that trash.
> 
> I understand that everyone saw Patrick as some fucking angel and victim but the truth is that he’s selfish, scheming, and not half the person you thought he was. Maybe not at all who you thought he was because who ever thought he’d do some shit like this?? 
> 
> Don’t tell me he tore apart the relationship that pulled Pete from his depression because he loved Pete— he did it because he wanted him to himself. Like a goddamn child. 
> 
> Don’t tell me he was forced to do any of this and that it’s all out of context— the context is pretty fucking clear and the vids of him threatening people with blackmail are PRETTY. FUCKING. CLEAR.
> 
> And don’t you dare tell me you’re waiting to hear his response. He’s had a long time to come forward and explain the weird shit that’s been going on. So either he’s dead or a coward and I don’t care which one anymore.
> 
> Tl;dr I’m absolutely sickened by everything that’s gone on in this case and if you still support P*trick St*mp you can unfollow me right the fuck now
> 
> _ #i’m looking at you MissMissingPatrick case followers #applies to anyone still supporting the band in general too #PatrickStump0427 _

**317 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

March 28

 

**Christina Ashe** _ @ashe_christina _

I appreciate all the support and concern from everyone, it means a lot after years of hiding this. If anyone ever has a similar experience, my heart goes out to you. We aren’t meant to be torn from our loved ones in such a way.

 

**Christina Ashe** _ @ashe_christina _

Still, I ask that the attacks on my behalf are put to a stop. I’m flattered, really, but I’ve always believed in love over vengeance. Spread kindness and forgiveness. It’s hard but I’m working on it. I hope I can get there someday

 

**Christina Ashe** _ @ashe_christina _

Just had a long talk with @petewentz and can confirm he’s still the best <3 

 

**Christina Ashe** _ @ashe_christina _

I do feel it’s only fair for me to confirm that Pete and I will remain as simply friends. In another timeline, things might have been different but we both know we’re where we’re supposed to be and there’s no use returning to the past. 

 

**Christina Ashe** _ @ashe_christina _

We both have new lives and new people. We both have different fights to face and I wish @petewentz all the luck with his

 

* * *

 

 

March 29

**LAPD HQ** _ @LAPDHQ _

UPDATE: In light of recent discoveries, Patrick Stumph’s disappearance is believed to be nothing more than a runaway case as a result of his past activities. All other leads have been exhausted. Forces are expected to shift focus to newer cases.

 

* * *

 

 

March 30

**Vicky Hanna** _ @vickyssecret _

Hey @PatrickStump don’t bother coming back. You’ve let down all your fans and made a fool of everyone who supported you. Do you really think anyone wants to see you again? I hope you fucking rot

**Ciara xD** _ @prayforthepatrick _

@vickyssecret Not to start trouble but you really don’t speak for the entire fandom. Sure, some people might agree with you…. But some of us don’t. There has to be an explanation. And I’m going to wait until we get one. Besides, what gives you the right to condemn him?

 

* * *

 

 

March 31

 

_ `Pete` _

 

_ `It’s okay if you hate me. I’ve always known that we’d end this way, no matter how enticing dreams may be. I always knew what the punishment would be for the selfishness and greed I’ve shown. My identity and happiness— you helped form the versions I have now; it’s only fair you take it back. Because, now, I don’t know who I am. I just know that I’m alone and the last time that happened I joined a cult. Just like me, right?` _

 

_ `The second part of the consequence, though, is the justice I owe to myself. ` _

 

_ `I never expected to feel betrayed by myself but I am so terrified by the person I’ve become. I’ve walked into evil with my eyes wide open but only when I cried for you did my vision clear. And I can’t recognize the man I’ve become when placed next to the one I always wanted to be, the one you believed I could be. But I… I still know what thoughts I had as I stole what I wanted, as I hurt who I desired. Justifications have stored in my mind but now is the time to set aside all excuse and lies and face the reality— I allowed myself to become a monster.` _ _`~~How did you never see? How did you ever grow so close and neve~~ r` _ _ `You already know the story; there’s no use repeating it.` _

 

_ `Do you believe in redemption? I like to think you would but I fear the trick of fooling myself. Regardless of whether redemption waits at the end, I have one last task to complete; it’s time for the leader of The Culture to fall. He goes by Sin; I’m one of the few who knows his true name. At risk of sounding dramatic, I can’t let you know his name but I can tell you that it’s enough to scare him. He’ll try to threaten me— I’m sure you’ve noticed Lewis hasn’t been revealed yet, thank god— but there is one trait that has never changed in me; to quote you, I’m the most stubborn bastard I know. Perhaps it’s time to put that to better use.` _

 

_ `This won’t be a way to make people forgive me, I know. Perhaps it’s just the opposite. But I believe that this, at least, will bring peace. I have no right to assume such heroics and I have no right to ask anything more of you but… just consider this message while I’m gone. However long that time may be; however permanent it might become.` _

 

_ `I truly hope you find happiness despite what I’ve done. And I hope that can you forgive me for what comes next; it requires me to break a promise to you, after all.` _

 

_ `— Patrick Stump` _

 

 

* * *

 

April 1

 

“Sir,” Paul says. Hands folded behind his back, shoulders tense as if expecting reproach, chin lifted to gaze at the back of Sin’s head. “We found him.”

_ Him  _ being the pale mess between two suited men, feet shuffling across the floor in a weak attempt to keep from going entirely limp.  _ Him  _ being the bleeding wreck dragged forward, heaving for breath with a new gash on his cheek.  _ Him  _ being the tired creature with dark circles beneath his weary eyes, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep from giving in to the bruises wrapped around his throat.

_ Him  _ being Patrick— traitor, ex-member, band member, missing man…

Patrick.

Sin laughs, a sound dark enough to send chills through Patrick’s burning mind, his mouth drying as he blinks and looks up.

“ _ Found  _ him,” Sin repeats in that delicate tone, that glass-like voice. “Don’t pretend to me that you found him. You might have captured him sneaking in but he was on his way already.”

Paul falters, stepping back, and Sin turns. The room is well-lit, wide windows showing off a frozen mountain scene, and it’s filled only with a few shelves and a desk. One of Sin’s offices, whether for work or play; he once told Patrick he’s fond of places with light.

Somehow, though, none of the sunshine streaming in matters when Sin frowns, darkening the scene.

“Oh, now,” he says, tugging at his sleeves as he takes in the sight before him. Patrick tries to keep his head up, keep his eyes fixed on the man before him, but his gaze keeps slipping away into shades of red and black. “Did you have to rough him up?”

Paul hesitates and Patrick focuses on the sound of his stuttering breath, pleased to hear it matching his own.

“He was breaking in,” Paul says, far more uncertain than before. 

“Of course he was.” Something about Sin’s tone— everything about Sin’s tone— sets Patrick’s teeth on edge, has his nerves igniting with desperation to stay awake. Patrick didn’t walk blindly into this trap but he still feels cornered in every way. “Because Patrick here just doesn’t know when to let go. Isn’t that right?”

The question’s directed at him but Patrick looks away, jaw tight as Sin gestures for the men to release him. He sways on his feet, stumbling forward to find his balance, but the cool tile on his soles and the reassurance of the wall beneath his palm bring him back to his better senses.

“You’re wrong,” Patrick says, sounding every bit the failed case he knows he is. Bitter and broken and done, he’s heard a dozen men before say the same things. None had ever walked out with anything more than the promise of their own destruction. Perhaps that’s why Sin’s smiling so indulgently; perhaps he’s thinking the same way. “I’m done.”

Sin’s smile is sugar and sweets, frosting on top of his pretty words. “Sure you are.”

There’s a plan in the back of Patrick’s mind, a twist of scrawlings left in a journal dropped outside in the scuffle with Paul and the other minions. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks past Sin and out the window, out at the trees and sky.

Sin sighs, waving away everyone else in the room with the slightest gesture of his hand. Once the room’s been cleared, he fixes his gaze on Patrick. “Why are you here?”

Patrick blinks and holds his breath, clenches his hands into fists, and then meets Sin’s awful eyes.

“You didn’t tell anyone about Pete’s son,” he says, refusing to blink or look away. “Why not? If you wanted to really stop me, then you would have told your people to post everything and then—”

“And then what?” Sin asks, sinking a hand into his pocket with an almost reverent steadiness to the action. “Leave you no incentive to come back? Leave you rotten and ruined and alone?” He clucks his tongue, crossing the room and circling Patrick in slow motions. “One would think you’re an amateur to this. That you haven’t seen what I do to traitors like you.”

“I have,” Patrick snaps, twisting his head to glare at Sin and swallowing down nausea that rises up at the action. “And you always release everything.”

Sin’s silent, humming to himself in some low somber tune until he’s in front of Patrick again. He pauses, closer than before, his hand fiddling in his pocket for something Patrick can’t see.

“I always  _ say _ everything,” he says, at last. “But do you really think you all know everything I do?”

Patrick’s eyebrows furrow together, hand dropping from the wall to rest at his side. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” It’s never condescending when Sin speaks, no matter how arrogant he is. It’s more understanding than that, smiling to himself because he feels lucky to teach. “That’s the entire point.”

A beat passes, a drum off-rhythm, and Patrick tries and fails to take a deep breath.

“So, what? You keep parts of everyone’s secrets to yourself?” He asks, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “I’m sure it’s a hell of a power trip but it still doesn’t explain—”

With one swift movement, Sin pulls his hand free from his pocket. Between his thumb and forefinger, he holds a plain blue flash drive.

“You want explanations? Think of it like this,” he says, passing the item from hand to hand. “Knowledge is power and what fool would I be to share all of it with the entire cult? They’re loyal but they wouldn’t know what to do with it— wouldn’t know how to react if they saw the extent of evil in everyone. No, things work better if there’s one source with everything— one person who can filter through what’s necessary and what’s better left unsaid. Only I can sympathize with the worst decisions we make; only I know best what to do with those lives.”

“Because you’re fucking evil incarnate,” Patrick spits though Sin barely flinches. Patrick points to the flash drive, voice dry. “And you don’t know everything. Or, at least, you’re not the only one who does. Everyone knows what they’ve done and your decision to collect their faults doesn’t make them suddenly forget.”

Sugar sweet smile; honey-soaked voice. “But they don’t know what I plan to do.”

“Sure, I do,” Patrick says, eyes caught on the flash drive like a moth on a flame— burning alive but incapable of turning away. “That’s Lewis’ information, right? You want me to repent and join you again or else you’ll release it. You’ll show everyone how horrible I am— as if they all think it can get any worse— and you’ll bring down a child in the process. I’m sure you feel like a great person right now.”

“I do, thank you,” Sin says. “But, no. I have no reason to further anyone’s hatred for you. I’m sure they’re all building your metaphorical pyre as we speak. And I’m never one to destroy a child if it can be avoided. His mother has done no wrong to me and my quarrel is with you. The file is on here but your belief that I would even care about it is all I really needed to lead you here.”

Patrick frowns. “Then, what…”

“This?” Sin stills and lifts the flash drive between them, his smile glistening like the snow outside. “See, you don’t know everything, after all. This, Patrick, is your heart.”

“My…” The phrase tugs loosely at the back of his mind, a wisp of words blowing through his brain with nothing to tie it down. “I don’t understand.”

“Your heart,” Sin replies, his smile finally twisting into something more sour, more bitter than before. “What, you don’t recognize this? I have switched it around, I admit, but only because I wanted to keep it close. But you should keep better track of your things, my dear.  You were the one who gave it to me, after all.”

All at once, the room goes cold.

But the night that Patrick remembers is hot, sticky with humidity and unsaid words, years ago as he worked with Sin. A mission before the band was properly back together, the suits and gloves not yet shed from Patrick’s skin. 

“Some men burn themselves with drink or drugs or crime,” Sin says, twisting the drive between his fingers as Patrick chills before him, stiff and uncertain of how to move. “But yours has always been your heart. Your loneliness. Your desperation to never be alone. I promised I could get your silly band back but…”

_ “But what if they don’t do what you expect?”  _ Patrick had asked as they staked out in some stupid hotel in the middle of nowhere, Sin planning on showing Patrick the proper way to steal a secret. “ _ What if I’m doing this for nothing and I end up by myself again?” _

Sin’s voice that night was sugar without the crash; his smile was a promise without the inevitable break. 

_ “Is your wish to have your band?”  _ He’d asked.  _ “Or is your wish to never be alone?” _

And Patrick trusted Sin, trusted that he meant it when he offered his company and aid. And, that night, his eyes were just that special shade of dark and his hair long enough to tug on teasingly; his voice was warm and patient and his smile was just that.

_ “There’s no difference between the two. Without my band, I’m alone. And when I’m alone, I feel like dying.” _

_ “Let’s not talk about that, then. Do you want a drink? Do you want to talk about something else?” _

And Patrick trusted Sin because he didn’t understand yet what The Culture did. They drank and they joked and the night seemed to last forever, sparkling with stars only they were meant to see. 

_ “So why are you in this cult?”  _ Patrick asked.  _ “How did they bribe you?” _

Sin’s smile makes more sense now as Patrick looks back at it, the way it curls up into his cheeks like a snake with venom still clinging to its teeth.

_ “I’m here because I like secrets. I guess I’m horrible for that but I’ve never done anything awful with them _ .” Sin had leaned in and they’d been talking for so long and his eyes were so lovely, his words so inviting. Patrick hadn’t spoken to someone for years— not like this, not with this instant click and conversation. And he knew what the next question was, his mind too muddied from alcohol and desperation to understand why he shouldn’t answer.  _ “What’s your biggest secret, Patrick?” _

_ “My secret is that I can’t live without my friends. We need each other to survive.”  _ He was thinking of his band; he was thinking of nothing but himself.  _ “You know, actually, my band and I crashed our van one time. I’m not supposed to tell anyone but… Do you want to know the full story behind that?” _

“Yes,” Sin says. “I can see you recall. And I’m sure it’s quite humiliating but don’t blame yourself. You were drunk and excited to have a conversation with someone who didn’t know how pathetic you really are. So eager to please; so ready to talk about everything you’ve never said. Just like everyone does.”

“What’s on the flash drive, Sin?” Patrick asks, each word a block thrust out from his throat. “What’s your plan now?”

Sin’s smug as he steps even closer to Patrick, threatening him to run away from this. “I have your heart. Your friends and family. You let us monitor them and told yourself it was all we were doing. But no one is perfect and your friends are no exception. This has everything we found— secrets and lies and all the moments in between. Every immoral slip on every step of the way. From the van crash to Pete’s son… this is enough to tear the band apart for good. It’s enough to wash you all away from history forever.”

“But why?” Patrick’s choking on his words, drowning in his own mistakes. His vision swims and his stomach twists and it doesn’t have anything to do with a concussion anymore. 

“Because you didn’t just hurt my work— you hurt me.” Sin’s voice is suddenly hard, acid bubbling up to the surface of a cake. “You gave your soul to me but betrayed it for your heart. And you don’t deserve either. You once told me that being without your band is as good as being alone and I want to see if you lied about that, too. I want to see if this kills you.”

Patrick’s eyes burn. His veins burn, his lungs burn, his mind screams from the fire blazing through his heart and soul.

When he speaks, his voice is nothing but smoke.

“I trusted you when I told you that,” he says, his words wavering as he looks up at Sin with tear-stricken eyes. “I trusted you.”

“Because you were desperate and alone.”

“Because I didn’t know you were Sin.” Patrick swipes an angry fist across his eyes before any tears can fall. “And because you told me to call you Sinclair every time we slept together.”

Just like Patrick had a thousand times over the years, Sin goes still. Nothing about his expression changes but Patrick knows what it means that he pales, knows what it means that he suddenly can’t seem to move.

“Playing guessing games now, Patrick?” Sin asks, still unmoving. “I could give anyone a fake name. And I could sleep with anyone I—”

“Sinclair Core. It took more determination than I thought I had to find a Sinclair like you in any records but public libraries are surprisingly well-updated these days,” he says. “You like to pretend you’re a ghost or a demon or humanity’s reckoning but you’re nothing. You live off your family’s money because you could never hold a job. You don’t hold onto your name because you’re paranoid about having your crimes found out. Hacking? Spying? Playing peeping tom in school? You’re not evil; you’re not worth the word. And you know this entire place will fall apart when everyone knows.”

With each snap of Patrick’s voice, Sin grows red in the face, breaths huffing through his lungs like anchors trying to find a place to stick. No more sugar or sweetness in his face; he looks like the devil he’s always wished to be.

“How could you possibly—?” He asks through gritted teeth.

Patrick grins.

“We all have our secrets, Sin. And there’s always someone desperate enough to figure them out,” he says. “Really, though, telling me your first name at our first meeting? Seems like I wasn’t the only one abandoned and alone. Or maybe you just had a crush you couldn’t deal with, either.”

Sin’s fist isn’t a surprise— it never is— but Patrick’s sluggish from the fight he got in earlier. He ducks a second before the blow can make contact with his face, the top of his head blooming with pain from the knuckles that scrape across. 

He isn’t as young as he used to be but muscle memory still kicks in when he thinks of stupid club fights or scuffles with Pete. He pops back up with enough speed to make his stomach sick and tosses himself at Sin, arms outstretched and hands grappling for the drive.

“Are you insane? Or have you always been this stupid?” Sin asks, drawing away as Patrick grabs holds of his wrist and tries to force his hand open. “You and your friends are  _ ruined _ , you hear me? You’re ruined and it’s going to be your fault.”

“It’s already my fault,” Patrick hisses, prying his nails into Sin’s skin but jerking away when Sin shoves at his face. “You have what you want from me but I won’t let you take anything from them.”

Sin’s grin is malicious and deranged, the glint of a knife at night. “I have you, does that count?”

Patrick doesn’t answer, lashing out with nails and fists and feet and nearly tumbling to the ground as Sin knees him in the gut. Still, he holds onto Sin’s arm and, together, they collapse.

Patrick’s head bounces off the tiled floor with a sickening thud and his vision spills over into shadows and greys. Sin’s above him now, shouting and losing that impossible control, hitting him and insulting him and Patrick tries to remember how to breathe.

“I gave you everything you have now,” Sin screams, striking him across the cheek. “I gave you your band.” Across the other cheek. “I gave you the ability to win over Pete.” Lifting him up and slamming him down. “I gave you the chance to never be alone again.”

Hands around his throat.

Patrick arches violently off the floor as his air cuts off with a gagging sound, feet kicking uselessly as he flails. Sin’s eyes are fires and his hands are flames and Patrick can’t see anything as he thrashes in his grip. He tries to grab onto Sin’s arms, to tear them away, but Sin’s limbs are columns incapable of breaking, incapable of undoing what their purpose is.

Tears spring to Patrick’s eyes and he can feel his pulse hammering away at Sin’s hands like it, too, is fighting in any way it can. He can’t think, he can’t focus, he can’t feel anything other than the absolute panic taking hold in every inch of his being. His throat fills with screams that can’t escape, pleas that can’t go back down. Shadows infringe on his vision and he knows it’s not long before Sin wins.

He thrashes his head one last time, a weak attempt compared to the rest. His head turns to the side and, through the darkness calling to his sight, he sees a small blue flash drive by his hip. 

Sin’s still muttering to him— or maybe he’s shouting, Patrick can’t tell. All he knows is that his focus is on Patrick’s face, on the way his eyes keep trying to shut. He presses more weight onto Patrick’s throat. 

As unconsciousness finally begins to settle in, as Sin chuckles to himself and starts to let go, Patrick drops his hand and rests it over the flash drive, pressing it into his pocket as a small strip of air eases down his throat.

When it all goes dark, he swears he can feel himself start to smile.

  
 

* * *

 

 

April 7

 

It’s hard to miss someone you’re supposed to hate.

When Pete says this to Joe, curled up on his couch with neverending nausea spilling through his stomach, Joe says it’s because you’re not supposed to miss them, either.

“Exactly,” Pete whines, face still half-hidden in one Joe’s couch cushions. The kids and Maria had come back a bit ago and it smells faintly of spilled juice. “I’m not trying to miss him but I do anyway and it hurts. And it hurts worse because he’s this evil asshole so I’m not just missing him physically— I’m missing the person I thought he was.”

Joe mumbles out another one of those friendly encouragements he’s been sharing these past few days— a day or so after Andy dropped Pete off here after finding him nearly dehydrated and half-awake at his own house— but Pete doesn’t listen.

“I hate him,” he interrupts, rolling over to glare at the ceiling and hoping he doesn’t start sobbing again. “I hate him and it’s only because I loved him. Do you know how much it kills me to hate someone I love?”

He expects Joe to make a comment about agreeing, about how he loved him, too, and was betrayed. It’d be the slap on the back of his head that Pete needs, the reminder that he wasn’t the only one dragged into this mess.

Instead, Joe is suspiciously silent. When Pete looks over, he’s picking at his nails and worrying his lip with his teeth.

“Joe?”

Joe pauses, dropping his hands to his lap and sighing. “What do you want me to say, man? I don’t hate him— I don’t think I can. I’m mad and I’ll probably punch him in the face next time I see him but all I can think about right now is how worried I am. About you  _ and  _ about him.”

Him, him, him. It’s like no one can say Patrick’s name.

Pete’s expression curls up in distaste and he looks away. 

“Well, no one’s perfect.” Pete looks over at the glass of water left on the table beside him and he briefly imagines lashing out, tossing it against the wall and scaring Joe’s kids and seeing if he’s still so understanding then. But then Pete’s thinking about children and he’s thinking about Lewis and how he still hasn’t met him, still hasn’t spoken to him, still hasn’t done more than sit with Christina and look through hidden photo albums. He turns his head, water ignored. “You two were close. Did you… Did you ever have any idea…?”

“What, that he fucked with your relationship?” Joe asks, leaning forward with concern in his eyes. “How could you think that? Of course not. I mean, sure, I knew he had a crush on you— has had one since we were basically kids— but I always thought he’d be too shy to act on it. I never thought he’d…”

Joe trails off and Pete nods. Everyone seemed to know about Patrick’s crush before Pete did, teasing the two of them and neither believing it could happen. Unwillingly, Pete thinks back to that first kiss, a memory somehow untainted by the thought of what led to it. The pretty blush on Patrick’s cheeks, the stammering words and breathless grin. Surely, he couldn’t have faked that. Certainly, he meant every word that followed in the years to come.

It was a perfect kiss, a moment built for the movies, and Pete never thought Patrick would be hiding anything other than insecurities and temper tantrums.

No one thought as much and, yet, here they are.

Here they are— Pete lying across a couch like a typical patient and Joe watching on with tired eyes. Andy’s out trying to calm the press, working with their publicist to draft a statement from the band, and Patrick is still missing.

But, this time, Pete doesn’t know if he’s ever going to come back.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel but every emotion— anger and hatred and fear and sadness— swirl through his chest like they’re trapped and can only be freed by Patrick himself.

Pete used to think that he and Patrick shared a bond beyond understanding and, on some level, Pete knows they did. They were vulnerable with each other in ways they weren’t with even themselves, sharing imperfections and secrets between each embrace. Pete shared dark thoughts with Patrick, stories of the people he’s hurt and the friends he’s left behind, and Patrick nodded along as if Pete was the only one needing to confess. Through ashamed tears, Pete would whisper about that time he put his fist through that girl’s window or when he really thought he wanted to kill this other guy’s friend. 

And Patrick never once condemned him. He stroked a hand down the side of Pete’s face, wiped away humiliation and judgment, and told him it was okay. 

_ “I was there when you messed up,”  _ Patrick said, time and time again.  _ “And, sure, I had a crush. But I didn’t really love you yet so I didn’t really know. So, forget all that shit. Because I love you for who you are now. I love you for showing you can change.” _

And Patrick would speak of acceptance, even after their fights. During the times they drove each other crazy and were both at each other’s throats, Patrick would pause and say he needed time to himself; he needed some space so he could remember all the reasons he cares about Pete.

Space to think about anything other than the fight or the wrongs that led up to it; space to consider, instead, every good that’s been done. 

Space to weight the two; space like Pete has now.

He thinks to the letter stuffed somewhere in his house, delivered with a pizza Pete hadn’t ordered. The reason he’d fallen back into some depressive state, sleeping all day and forgetting to do as much as drink a glass of water. 

In the note, Patrick asked of redemption— not for it, just of it. It felt like a trap because, of course, Pete believes in redemption; he’s needed it more time than he can count. But he never stole away someone’s perfect family, never went so far just to own something that wasn’t his to have.

But.

But Pete’s veins flutter with fear when they think of what Patrick had alluded to— his decision to go face the demons who dragged him to hell. His heart constricts and threatens to burst when he remembers Patrick’s claim that this time his absence will be permanent.

His very soul escapes when he wonders what comes next, what he’ll have to forgive Patrick for now. He knows what promise Patrick’s speaking of because, despite everything, he still knows Patrick.

He and Pete both still worry about being left alone.

Having the anti-hero run off to save the day is a cliche but Pete holds onto the hope that Patrick can do it— if only to protect the son Pete never met.

And if he’s able to protect Pete’s heart while he’s there, able to prove he’s not the man Pete’s nightmares are building him to be… If he can face the devil and walk out of hell unscathed, then… 

Pete shuts his eyes.

“Joe?” He asks. “Do you think I can forgive him?”

“I think if you’re asking that, then you already know the answer.” 

 

* * *

 

 

April 14

 

#  **Pete Wentz goes to police with more information on the Missing Patrick case**

By  **Kiana Ambers** —  **April 14, 2019**

 

Weeks after police seemingly closed the case as a runaway incident, Pete Wentz has come forward with more information.

 

Wentz remained silent on what it was he shared but, following his meeting with the Chief of Police, a press release regarding the nature of the case was shared on the Los Angeles Police Department official website.

 

Though many former fans and other followers of the case have given up on redemption or answers, the release said that Wentz’s testimony has allowed police to believe they can find the missing singer, Patrick Stump, with greater ease than before.

 

“Both Wentz and Stumph have a lot to answer for and I’m sure a majority of the public will agree,” Michael Moore, chief-of-police, said. “But I believe now, more than ever, we need to find this man. And, for once, we have a lead we can follow with confidence.”

  
Wentz was unavailable for comment but sources close to him said that this was neither an act of revenge on Stumph or anything born out of anger. Instead, close friends have claimed that Wentz still **([Read More](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpcYNCYPCHM)** **)**  

 

* * *

 

 

April 21

 

It’s dark. It’s been dark for days since they tossed him in here— days or weeks or maybe another lifetime— but this dark somehow feels darker than before.

Patrick awoke in here days ago, voice hoarse and neck sore, and he eventually determined that he’s been tossed into some closet or spare room.

Or perhaps Sin is psychotic enough to have a cell hidden away in his house.

No matter. It doesn’t help Patrick in the slightest. Hands tied tight in front of him and his mind too muddled to think, he’s kept silent and still. On the first day, he realized he still has the flash drive jammed into his pocket and he can’t afford to give them a reason to find it.

He does wonder why Sin hasn’t noticed it’s missing— if it’s part of another scheme or if he has copies— but he can never bring himself to ask on the rare occasions when Sin shows up to bring him water or food or to otherwise take care of him.

But Sin’s been gone a while now and dehydration prods at the side of Patrick’s already discombobulated mind. A new concussion creeps in, a familiar yet unwelcome touch, and he gags around the bruises on his throat when he breathes too deeply. 

In the dark with nothing but his heartbeat as company, Patrick wonders if he’s losing his mind. If the strip of light beneath the door is really there or if it’s another hole to follow into, a wonderland filled with thorns and knives.

In Wonderland, no one’s who they say they are so perhaps Patrick will fit right in. A crown for his lies and a throne for sins; a kingdom for his heart and soul. 

In the dark, Patrick laughs though it comes out more as a huffing breath, dust scattering around the floor pressed up to his cheek. He tries to move to his back but shifting makes the world spin. He shuts his eyes, groaning, and wonders why Sin hasn’t killed him yet. There’s nothing left for him to take, nothing left for Patrick to give. 

Footsteps echo from outside the door and Patrick stiffens at the sound. Sin’s coming back; perhaps he really does know everything and he’s come to fulfill Patrick’s thoughts. 

Like every time, the sound of the door unlocking has Patrick panting for breath, awaiting the strike or kick that always follows when Sin comes in— anything to keep Patrick down, anything to keep him weak. 

But something about the way Sin tosses open the door, the way he turns on the light for the first time in days, tells Patrick that this time is different.

“What did you tell Pete?” He asks, prodding at Patrick’s side with the toe of his shoe and a manic voice. “What the hell did you tell him?”

Pete? Patrick hasn’t thought of Pete in a while; he hasn’t allowed himself to think of him since getting tossed in here, certain he’ll die. He means to tell Sin this, he swears he does, but all that comes out is a raspy cough. 

Sin prods at him again, harder this time; it’s edging on a full kick. 

“There are police on their way here. Police that should be subservient to  _ me _ . I need to know what they’re doing. I need to know what they know.” Sin’s panicking. It’s a strange sound.

Patrick can’t see in the lights, can’t bring himself to open his eyes without wincing, but he forces himself to turn towards the direction of Sin’s voice.

“Well, that’s certainly new,” he croaks. “I thought you were supposed to know everything.”

Sin growls and kicks at Patrick’s ribs. Patrick’s already falling asleep again, unable to really feel anything at all.

In the distance, he hears sirens blare.

 

* * *

 

 

April 27

# Missing singer finally brought home

By  **Zhenya Wells** — April 27, 2019

After a four-month investigation, police were finally able to recover missing singer-songwriter Patrick Stumph this past week.

According to police reports, Stumph had been found captive in the home of Sinclair Core, the reclusive son of a family known for its successful business ventures in new technology. Core is being held in police custody with no further news on his situation.

Due to Core’s history in technology, it is likely that many videos and images recently released regarding Stumph had been edited or doctored before being sent out, according to the Chief-of-Police.

Eric Graham, the main detective on the case, said that other witnesses have come forward with testimonies against Core’s alleged cult, known as “The Culture.”

“I’ve spoken with other celebrities who’ve faced being ‘exposed’ by this man and his organization,” Graham said. “They’ve all claimed that he makes his living by exaggerating mistakes and making people seem worse than they really are. I can’t help but wonder if that’s what’s happened with Patrick here.”

While original investigations showed no editing on the clips, the files have been sent to officials to be examined once again.

Other theories include the belief that Stumph was part of Core’s alleged cult and had been working under their orders for an indeterminable amount of time.

The sudden success in finding Stumph follows Peter Wentz’s decision to go to the police with previously unknown evidence about the man keeping Stumph captive. 

According to a press conference given earlier this morning, Wentz gave the police information about Core’s cult and its history of blackmail and bribery. 

Core and most of his cult were taken into custody. Police are currently searching for any members who might have escaped during the arrest.

“Wentz’s statement confirmed many of my own suspicions and gave me the confidence to go in after the suspect,” Chief-of-Police Michael Moore said. “Stumph sustained no serious injuries but he is at the hospital to recover. My main regret is not intervening in the situation earlier.”

Stumph was found restrained and unconscious in Core’s house. When police arrived, Core appeared to be beating Stumph.

While most friends and family have been unavailable for comment, some of Stumph’s band members have reached out with their comments.

Joseph Trohman, lead guitarist and friend to Stumph, said that, while he can’t yet understand the situation, he’s glad to have Stumph back.

“I haven’t really allowed myself to think about the negative side of things yet. All I’ve been hoping for is to have Patrick back and okay and that’s what we have,” Trohman said in an email to the publication. “That’s what I’m going to focus on until things quiet down.”

Andrew Hurley, drummer and friend to Stumph, echoed these sentiments in a recent call to one of our reporters.

“If Patrick has a side of the story to tell, he’ll tell it,” Hurley said. “But it’s up to him on how public he wants to make it. From my understanding, he’s already made things right with the people involved and that’s something I can respect for now.”

Wentz was seen arriving at the hospital earlier this morning but was unavailable for comment.

 

* * *

 

 

April 27

**Happy Bday Patrick!** _ @mickeyhouse _

Patrick is such a sweet soul, he deserves all this love and on his birthday omg I’m crying. Get well soon baby!! #WelcomeBackPatrick

**#WELCOMEBACKPATRICK** _ @purpleXkissess _

Every fake woke person: judges patrick without evidence, cancels an innocent man, makes fools of themselves

Every sane person: waits for actual evidence

It feels so good to have loyalty pay off #welcomebackpatrick

**Peterick Appreciation** _ @era_peterick _

WAIT SO MY BOYS ARE REUNITED OH MY GOD????? #WELCOMEBACKPATRICK WE ALL MISSED YOU. @PETEWENTZ GIVE HIM ALL THE KISSES FOR ME

**Sally Winchester** _ @sunshineriptide1 _

It feels like I finally woke up from a horrible dream <3 We’ve missed you so much #WelcomeBackPatrick

**McFucking** _ @themcjokster _

Is #welcomebackpatrick really trending?? After everything he did?? Someone release this Sinclair guy, I wanna know what he has to say… Glad Patrick’s safe, I just don’t trust him yet.

**Music Note Reviews** _ @mn_review _

So y’all legit think @PatrickStump is innocent now? #welcomebackpatrick You’re all fools. We still need to know what he thinks his excuse for using people and lying to everyone is *shrugs*

**Corsin Clare** _ @culturescall _

Celebrate while you can. It’s only a matter of time before he disappears again #WelcomeBackPatrick

 

* * *

 

 

April 27

**mychildhoodheroes**

> I woke up this morning to the news about Patrick and instantly burst into tears. And this is coming from someone who got sucked into the media rumors about his death and lies and, for a while, I thought I didn’t want him coming back because of all the anxiety this entire thing was causing me. But, oh my god. I was so wrong. I was wrong and he’s back and I’m so emotional over it.
> 
> Most of all, I’m so proud to be part of a fandom that (for the most part) stuck together and showed nothing but love and solidarity towards each other during this awful time. Working together to find clues and sightings and helping each other through panic attacks has made me so so proud to call myself a fall out boy fan.
> 
> Obviously, I’m not excusing anything Patrick did or might have done but it seems like even the cops are saying that those were faked??? Either way, I stand by my past statement of waiting until Patrick himself tell us what happened. Even then, I don’t think it matters much. I watched the press conference and the guy who found Patrick was pretty detailed about how hurt he was so, even if Patrick did do those things, I can’t help but wonder if he hasn’t already suffered enough. Tbh, I started crying again when I thought of someone physically hurting him. S*nclair can rot!!
> 
> (Side note, didn’t Christina Ashe tweet something about forgiving Patrick??? I can’t find it right now but if she and Pete can forgive him then I don’t see why we shouldn’t either)
> 
> _ #I ALMOST TYPED OUT MISSMISSINGPATRICK #AND THEN CRIED BC I REALIZED I DONT HAVE TO DO THAT ANYMORE #PatrickStump0427 _

**6,586 notes**

 

* * *

 

 

April 27

**Fall Out Boy** _ @falloutboy _

There’s no way to properly thank everyone for the love and support we’ve been shown. Just know that you’re our favorite people— forever. The news is true. Patrick’s home. We’ll give updates when he’s ready.

 

* * *

 

 

_ April 27 _

It’s the cliches that get them in trouble but Pete can’t stop thinking about them as he steps into the hospital room, guided in by a kind nurse. He hadn’t come when Patrick first arrived— unconscious, they said, and worse for wear. He still doesn’t know quite why it took him so long.

Well, there are a lot of things he doesn’t know. Like why he went to the police and demanded they go find “Sin” and bring Patrick back, prove Patrick’s not wasting his life on some silly redemption mission. And he doesn’t know why the police knew immediately where to find The Culture’s leader or why they only seemed to change their minds when Pete said Patrick might know Sin’s real name.

He has his theories, just as much as he had his doubts, but they did what they promised. They brought Patrick back.

And Pete couldn’t bring himself to see him.

Maybe it’s because of the way he’s been picturing him, the evil version locked in his head whenever he remembers his missing son or almost wife. The one with blonde hair and snake eyes, cruel smiles and harsh lips. He was scared that he’d arrive and Patrick would be sitting on the edge of the bed, unharmed and laughing because Pete waltzed right back into his arms.

But he was also afraid that even that vision was wrong. That they’d bring back a body, not a man, and he’d have to spend his life wondering what Patrick’s last thoughts were. Would they be of Pete, of sorrow and remorse? Or would he only be thinking of himself, regretting that he lost all he had?

Pete put it off until Joe and the others insisted, saying that Patrick needed to talk to him. They each did their own part, showed up and cried together and came to Pete saying Patrick’s not as awful as Pete believes. He’s sorry and he’s hurt and he really misses Pete.

It was that last bit that got him to arrive, even if all of it played a part.

In the hospital bed, Patrick looks smaller than he is and the wounds seem more violent than doctors assure him they are. Yellow and green bruises cling to his skin, darker around his throat, and bright red gashes litter his face. There’s a dazed look in his eyes and some IV connected to his arm and when he looks at Pete, hair that’s grown too long falls messily into his face.

He looks young and bashful, going red and wide-eyed when he catches sight of Pete’s gaze, tucking down into the blankets as if to hide. Patrick winces as he moves, biting his lip but not looking away, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he doesn’t know whether to smile or speak or cry. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a weak voice. It’s a vague expression to match the vague embarrassment decorating his entire being. “I didn’t think you would really come. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t… I just needed to see you again. I do have some things to tell you but… All that mattered to me was that I got the chance to see you. And to properly say I’m sorry.”

Pete steps forward as Patrick babbles, each word growing more frantic as Pete grows closer. And, closer, Pete can see the pink cheeks and blue-green eyes, the shaking hands and trembling lips. 

Closer, he can see his Patrick.

Something swells in his chest but he hesitates to call it the trust and love they had before, the feeling tainted by every mistake left unmended. But, as he sits on the edge of Patrick’s bed, a hand pressed to the blanket beside Patrick’s, he thinks he can call it understanding. As Patrick takes an uncertain breath, he wonders if he can call it forgiveness.

It’s terrifying to be so close to Patrick, to look at him and wonder what happens next, but it’s the kind of terror that comes before a stage dive. He knows that one wrong move can send him sprawling on the ground, bleeding and in pain, but he does so anyway, exhilaration leading the way.

“I… I got the file that he had on Le- On your son. And on everything else. He won’t be able to hurt him, I promise,” Patrick says, talking a million words a minute. “I know it’s not enough to make up for everything— for anything, really— but I had to do something. Even if Sin killed me or I failed, I had to know that I at least tried to make things right. I couldn’t live knowing I just let you hate me. Even if you do hate me and you walk out that door right now and never come back. Even if you—”

“Patrick.” It’s the first time he’s said his name since leaving Christina’s house and it doesn’t taste as sour as he thought it would. Patrick cuts off with a deep breath, looking up at Pete with those big blue eyes. And, though they’re the shade of the sky behind a winter storm, the color of the ocean in the deepest parts, they melt Pete entirely. His hand inches forward, stopping just when he feels Patrick’s fingertips bump into his own. Patrick gasps; Pete can’t help but smile. “Oh, there you are. I was wondering where you went.”

Patrick flushes a deeper shade of red, pressing back against Pete’s touch. 

“I got lost in my own stupidity and forgot about the things that mattered.” He pauses, licking chapped lips. “I heard that you were the ones who went to police about Sin. You know they were working for him, right? They could have just taken you, too, so why on earth…?”

“Because, no matter what you did in the past, I couldn’t do nothing,” Pete says. “Your last letter sounded pretty final and I couldn’t let you do that for me.”

Patrick looks away. “It was for me, too. I couldn’t live with what I did.”

“Well, you have to.” Pete doesn’t mean to sound so harsh but his tone draws Patrick’s gaze back towards him all the same. “Listen, I… I don’t know why I can’t hate you. I did or I thought I did but I just can’t anymore. When I read your letter, I only wanted to see you safe and, god, that confused the hell out of me. How could I still love someone who betrayed me? And how could I hate someone I spent the last decade or so loving? It didn’t make sense and I don’t think it has to.”

He pauses but Patrick doesn’t speak, only looking up with wide eyes and parted lips. Pete blames years of memory and habit for the way his fingers twitch with desire to reach out and touch the petal shades, the way his ears ring from the silence and promise of Patrick’s voice so close. He blames memory and then he blames nothing but himself.

“I missed you,” Patrick says at last, whispering but unblinking. His fingers edge closer to Pete’s until they’re side by side, the first knuckles barely interlocking. “The entire time.”

“I missed you, too.” The words come unbidden, thrust forth as if awaiting permission to exist. Patrick’s fingers are warm next to his, thrumming with life and in time with Pete’s desperate pulse. “More than I believed I could.”

“Do… Do you think…” Patrick struggles with the words, eyes finally dropping, and Pete’s smile falls.

“I love you. I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever stop loving you,” he says. “But… I need time. I need to learn how to trust you again and that’s not going to happen over night.”

Patrick’s shoulders fall ever so slightly, his eyes dimming even as he looks back up and nods. “But you do believe that—”

“We can do anything,” Pete says. “Even this.”

Patrick smiles and the room brightens with it, warming and filling Pete’s chest with a burst like butterflies and bubbles. He laughs under his breath, his own grin returning, and he finally takes Patrick’s hand completely in his.

For the first time since the year began, Pete looks into Patrick’s smile and sees nothing but golden promises for the year to come— treasures to be found and joy to be made. He sees every day they’ve lost and every day they’ve yet to gain, every moment they’ve shared and every memory they’ll make.

He sees change and he sees a future where all of this is nothing but the past.

And, when Patrick’s eyes promise nothing but good, Pete doesn’t look away.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_ May 1 _

Outside the dressing room door, the crowd is already screaming. Someone tells them they need to go on soon; someone else laughs and asks for five more minutes.

Brendon smiles good-naturedly and looks up, catching a joke from Nicole that he barely hears over the roar of the fans. It’s some festival gig that was booked for them, outside in the heat of the day, and he’s already sweating in his jacket. 

The others get ushered onstage early, getting to their instruments to hype the fans up. Brendon chances one last glance at his phone, grinning when he sees the text from Patrick. He’s insisted Patrick keep in constant contact after what he did; god knows what the runaway members of The Culture would do if they knew he ratted out Sin’s name. A text from Pete sits beneath it, joking that Brendon better not be trying to move in on Patrick with all the messaging they’ve been doing. Another reason to be relieved; if Pete’s playing possessive, their relationship must be on the mend.

Brendon fires out a tease to Pete, saying something about laying his claim before Pete can, and then looks for a place to charge his phone while he’s performing. It always sucks to come back to below fifty percent.

He sets his phone down and turns to ask someone for help.

The sound of a new notification gives him pause. There’s nothing about this sound that should give him any sort of fear but years with an evil organization has dug its claws in deep. He shrugs of the chills and plays it off as a pre-show jitter. He’s called on before he can check the text but he doesn’t let it bother him.

He can always check it later tonight; it’s not like he has anyone to answer to anymore.

Besides, it’s most likely another text about being possessive of Patrick.

<><><>

_ From:  _ Unknown Number

_ To:  _ Brendon Urie

_ Texts Received:  _ 8:51 PM, May 1 2019

> Remember all those times we helped you? It’s time for you to return the favor. Don’t worry. It’ll be the last one.
> 
> [Tag](https://remember-me-for-sinturies.tumblr.com/post/183113394409/and-they-all-lived-happily-ever-after-do-you),  you’re it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all goes well, this was worth staying up until 1:30 am to edit.
> 
> Umm, let me know if you have any questions because, yeah, I know this is weird and there are a lot of little things I'd hoped you would catch. You can tell me what you think in the comments or hop over to tumblr and send a message at hum-my-name! I'd love to see you there!
> 
> And, I guess, I have to say that, even though it was weird and it kept me up at night, I loved writing this. I know some readers dwindled off in the process and I don't blame them but everyone who stuck around and genuinely enjoyed this and left such sweet comments has the biggest place in my heard <3 I hope you keep putting up with my silly writings. Have a wonderful day/night!!
> 
> P.S. the hint is tag

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!! And know that I already absolutely adore you for reading this fic at all. I know it's weird but it means the world that you're giving it a chance.
> 
> Also! Talk to me on tumblr: hum-my-name. I suck at conversations but I swear I'm trying to get better. Haha!
> 
> Have a fantastic day/night!!


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